The Whitest Rose
by Laurel-Crowned
Summary: As part of a peace agreement involving warring nations, a marriage is arranged between Figaro’s King Edgar and Celes Chere of the Empire. Problems arise when Celes falls not for Edgar but for Figaro’s young emissary, a man named Locke Cole.
1. Default Chapter

            **A/N: This is a very A/U story. I mean, besides the characters, it really has nothing to do with FF VI. The plot of the story is loosely based on the French _faible Tristan et Ysuelt, which I do not take credit for. Characters are all property of the geniuses at Squaresoft, though I wish even one of them was mine … *sigh* Maybe __next year …. Okay, on with the fic. Please let me know if this is any good at all!_**

- - -

            "It's settled then," Edgar said with a sincere smile, reaching his hand across the negotiation table to shake the spindly, ring-clad hand of the emperor. Gestahl returned the smile, and they sealed the deal with a handshake. Between them lay an official peace treaty, marked both with Edgar's flourishing signature and Gestahl's sharp handwriting. A servant of the emperor stepped forward to carefully roll the parchment while Edgar sat back with relief. 

            "I must admit, we've had quite a history, Emperor," Edgar said, watching as the servant sprinkled the familiar sealant dust over the signatures to dry the ink, making the document official. 

            "Indeed we have, King Figaro," Gestahl nodded, tugging at his beard in thought. "Your father and I were sworn enemies. Truth be told I never thought I'd see this day come. But it has, and I am glad. Our two nations are long overdue for a bit of peace."

            "I'll second that," Edgar grinned. "It's back to Vector for you, then?"

            "I'm afraid so. No time for trivialities this time, while there is other business to be dealt with," Gestahl said, standing. Edgar stood with him, ready to see the old ruler out. "The Empire shall copy the agreement for you, and it will be sent to you with my signature. All you will need to do is sign it, and we shall both have a copy for our records. I assume you won't mind if I send it with your bride?"

            "Not at all. And once Miss Chere arrives, I will withdraw all offensive troops I've deployed," Edgar said as he strolled toward the door with the emperor, a flock of servants trailing behind. 

            "Excellent," Gestahl said, extending his hand once more as they reached the door. "Until next time, then. May Figaro remain strong."

            "And the Empire as well," Edgar said, shaking the proffered hand once more. "My personal guard Cyan shall see you out. Safe journey, Emperor." Cyan, who had been standing next to the door, took his cue and led Gestahl out to escort him to his caravan.

            Edgar made his way back into the room, and when the last servant was finally gone he collapsed on the throne with a deep sigh. Slight purple crescents were visible under each of his steel blue eyes, a sign that the king had not slept much as of late. Edgar rubbed his eyes furiously and pushed a stray wisp of blond hair back behind his ear.

            "Was that wise, brother?" A voice broke Edgar's thoughts. He looked up into a face that mirrored his own, and sighed again. As usual, Sabin had entered the throne room without a sound. Motioning to the other seat, Edgar began to speak to his twin, who had no doubt been listening in.

            "I have no idea," Edgar spoke slowly, his voice dark with fatigue. "I know Father always said never to trust the Empire, but ..."

            "But your heart leads you to peace," Sabin finished for him, his eyes deeply concerned as he sat next to his brother.

            "Figaro can't remain at war," Edgar nodded, grateful that his brother understood. "I'd do anything for my people, Sabin, anything."

            "Even marry a stranger?" Sabin asked. Edgar laughed bitterly and nodded. 

            "So you heard that part, huh?" he said, running a hand over his loosening braid. "Celes Chere was a major bargaining piece for the Empire. A union of marriage between Figaro and the Empire will assure them, so I will do it." 

            "But you don't even know her," Sabin frowned.

            "No, but that doesn't matter just yet," Edgar said. "She doesn't know me either, but she agreed nonetheless. If it will bring peace I will try. I have to."

            "Figaro is lucky to have you, Edgar," Sabin said simply, standing and clapping his brother on the shoulder encouragingly. 

            "Do you think ... Father would be ashamed of me?" Edgar looked up at Sabin, looking almost afraid for the first time that day.

            "I asked you that once," Sabin smiled. "Remember? When I wanted to be a fighter instead of a king? You told me Father would be proud of me for following my heart. You love your people, Edgar, and Father is proud of you for it. I am a great fighter now, and you are a great king. I trust your judgment, Figaro does too, and so would Father."

            "Thank you, Sabin," Edgar smiled weakly.

            "You push yourself too hard," Sabin replied. "Get some rest. I have troops to train, you know, so I'll see you later."

            "Fair enough," Edgar nodded. Sabin grinned and hurried down the few steps that preceded the throne, heading out the door that would take him to the training yard. Edgar watched him go, then stood slowly and unclasped the heavy, elegant cloak he had been wearing for the meeting. It slid to the floor, and Edgar felt much lighter as he began to walk toward the door where the emperor had left minutes before.

            Edgar let his feet lead him to the courtyard, and he sank onto a bench beneath a spot of shade and closed his eyes. The desert surrounding Figaro was hot, and it made Edgar drowsy. He loved the heat; it reminded him of safety and family. He'd never known any other climate, and to him the scorching sun and drifting sands were home.

            Just as he was nearing the comfort of a dream, Edgar was jolted awake by a shout. He looked up, half-lidded eyes turning immediately to the gate and the wild sands beyond. A single rider mounted on a chocobo was galloping furiously toward the castle gate, shouting as he came.

            Edgar stood, shielding his eyes from the sun as he watched the rider approach. A moment later Edgar could see the horde of angry riders that were chasing him, and his eyes widened. The lone rider who was being pursued shouted again, waving an arm frantically in the castle's direction. Edgar recognized the rider, and scowled.

            "Open the gate!" he shouted to the sentries on duty. "Open the gate!" The guards snapped into action at the king's words, and they pulled the grid iron gate open just enough to let the single rider through.

            "Edgar! Look out!" the rider shouted to the king, who was still standing in the courtyard's center. Edgar, realizing that the gigantic bird was not slowing down, dodged to the side to avoid being trampled. He reached out as the chocobo passed him, grabbing a section of the chocobo's reins and pulling with all of his strength. The bird stumbled with an angry squawk, and the rider was propelled to the stone ground. 

            Edgar released the upset bird, unable to hold on, and it dashed away only to be noticed by a couple of guards who gave chase. Edgar watched the struggle, then turned back to the crumpled mass of blue cloth and brown hair on the ground a few feet from him. 

            "On your feet, Locke Cole!" Edgar said gruffly, trying to suppress a smile as Locke groaned and reached one gloved hand toward his head.

            "Be quiet ... let me die in peace," Locke grumbled into the smooth stone beneath his face.

            "Oh, get up," Edgar said, bending to grab Locke's arm and help him stand. As he pulled the young man up he also scooped up a bright piece of red and blue cloth that lay near Locke's side. "You lost your bandanna."

            "Thank you," Locke said, taking the cloth as he stood shakily. He began to wrap it expertly around his unruly sandy locks as Edgar turned toward the gate. The gang of riders had been shut out, shouting vulgar threats at the guards from the other side of the gate. Edgar frowned, and grabbed Locke's arm as the young man began to slink away.

            "Locke ...!" Edgar growled.

            "Ow! Hey, let go, Edgar!" Locke tried unsuccessfully to free himself from Edgar's iron grip.

            "What's going on, Locke?!" Edgar demanded.

            "What?" Locke said innocently. "A minor disagreement ... property dispute ...?"

            "Am I consorting with a known criminal?" Edgar asked, then sighed with exasperation as Locke winced. "Locke! What now?!"

            "Just a little money, that's all," Locke shrugged, producing a small pouch from beneath his vest-like over shirt. Edgar let go of his arm and snatched away the money pouch.

            "Locke! Why? Why do you keep doing this?" Edgar demanded, shaking the little bag in front of Locke's nervous face. 

            "Um ... habit?" he offered weakly, then deflated at Edgar's glare. "Look, they were bothering me! I figured they deserved it!" 

            "Stealing is illegal, Locke!" Edgar said dangerously. "I'm a king, I'm supposed to uphold justice! How can I keep defending you?"

            "Edgar ... I'm sorry," Locke said, surprised at Edgar's outburst.

            "You're sorry?! Tell them that!" Edgar shouted, pointing at the gates where the guards were avoiding the objects the gang was hurling through the iron bars. "I should send you out there with this money and have you apologize. That would teach you to steal from people like that."

            "Edgar, you ... you can't! They'd kill me for sure!" Locke protested. Edgar cast a wary eye toward the gates, and sighed as he looked back at Locke's dusty face.

            "If Father were here, he would make you go out there," Edgar said quietly, watching Locke's face grow dark.

            "Well, Father isn't here," Locke said vehemently. Edgar knew he had struck a chord; Locke was an orphan, and Edgar's father had treated Locke as if he was his own. The late King Figaro was the only father that Locke had ever known. Edgar tossed the money pouch up and caught it again, thinking. Finally he sighed, and met Locke's deep brown eyes.

            "I'll handle it this time. Wait here," he instructed, reaching under Locke's over shirt suddenly and producing another bag of money. He spun toward the gate, ignoring Locke's appalled face. 

            "Edgar!" he whined.

            "Shut up, I'm saving you here," Edgar replied, walking quickly to where the guards were trying to deter the shouting men outside. 

            "Gentlemen," Edgar said, announcing his presence. The men must have recognized him, because they fell still and silent immediately. The guards allowed Edgar to move between them, and he held up the two pouches of money.

            "This is all the boy has on him. I assume at least some of it is yours. You may have all of it for your trouble, so long as you vacate immediately," Edgar bargained with an iron voice.

            "What about the thief?!" the apparent leader demanded.

            "Don't worry. He won't go without punishment. Now ..." Edgar shook the pouches, "do we have a deal?" The leader hesitated, but Edgar was confident. The money he offered was nearly double what was stolen, a good sum for any man. Finally the leader nodded brusquely, and Edgar grinned. 

            "All right," he said, and promptly dropped the pouches between the bars. The leader motioned for one of his men to dismount and get the money, then turned to glare at Edgar. The king was no longer smiling.

            "Go," he commanded. "Or the army shall have you for target practice. You have profited, now get out of here."

            "Very well," the leader grunted. "But if we find that boy in our bar again, he won't leave alive."

            "I'll see that he gets the message," Edgar said, and watched as they slowly turned their mounts to head back southward. Nodding to the guards, Edgar whirled on his heel and walked back toward the awaiting Locke.

            "Hey Edgar ... listen ..." Locke began as Edgar brushed past him coldly. "I ... I'm really sorry, Edgar. Thanks, for getting me out of that."

            "Walk with me, Locke," Edgar said, waiting for his younger friend to fall into step beside him. "You may not want to thank me yet."

            "What? Why?" Locke asked, his smile fading. 

            "Because you are going to be punished," Edgar said, clasping his hands behind his back. "I have a job for you."

            "Are you kidding? Anything for you, Edgar," Locke's grin returned. "You're a brother to me. Just name it."

            "You're going to Vector," Edgar said. Locke stopped in his tracks, his eyes growing wide as his mouth fell open in silent protest. Edgar smirked, and paused to let Locke recover.

            "Please tell me that you're kidding," Locke finally managed. Edgar merely shook his head, and began walking again. For a moment Locke stood motionless, then suddenly he was tearing after his blond friend.

            "Edgar!!"

            "Relax, Locke," Edgar said calmly. "You won't be spying this time. I've made a treaty with the Empire."

            "Excuse me?" Locke sobered as the words sunk in. Edgar continued walking, entering the lower courtyard with Locke at his side.

            "That's right. Emperor Gestahl was here just this morning, though you were out cavorting so you wouldn't know," Edgar explained. "Both sides are withdrawing offensive troops, the Empire is providing us with some of its newer technology, Figaro is helping fund rebuilding of the war zones, and as a show of good faith I am entering a commitment with a citizen of the Empire."

            "Oh ..." Locke said slowly, his face blank. "Come again?"

            "I'm sending you to Vector to escort my bride," Edgar said. Locke made a choking sound and stumbled on the cobblestone.

            "You're getting married?!" he gasped. 

            "Yes," Edgar answered tersely. "It will appease both sides to see a union between Figaro and the Empire. I agreed this morning."

            "But ... but who?!" Locke demanded. Edgar ushered him to a shady bench in a quiet corner and set Locke down before sitting down himself. 

            "It's not uncommon, Locke," Edgar spoke as if to a child. "She's a young woman named Celes Chere. The Emperor only has a son, and Miss Chere is the closest thing to a daughter in his life. It's a gesture of peace, Locke, don't you understand?"

            "No," Locke said quietly, leaning his elbows on his knees and staring at the ground.

            "I suppose not," Edgar sighed. "You and Sabin are so alike. Neither with a head for politics. I knew this might come, Locke. I suspect Miss Chere did as well. You need not worry. Your job will be to go in the Blackjack with Setzer and bring Miss Chere here. You'll be my emissary, all right?"

            "Why me?" Locke asked. 

            "Because," Edgar laughed, "you're restless here! Your incident earlier proves it. Father always said you were too adventurous for your own good. Going to Vector will give you a chance to stretch your wings, see something different, and ... keep you out of trouble for the time being, if you know what I mean."

            "Oh?" Locke straightened up.

            "Those men threatened to kill you if you returned to their bar," Edgar said, smiling. 

            "As if they owned it!" Locke snorted. "Well, I _should lay low for a while. But I don't know much about being an emissary ..."_

            "I've sent you out before," Edgar reminded.

            "Not to the Empire's capital! Not to act political!" Locke protested. "I can spy, I can fight, I can hunt ... I can't play the part of a politician!"

            "Calm down. You can be eloquent when you have to be," Edgar said. "Setzer will assist you. Plus, I know you can fight your way out if the Empire pulls something."

            "You think they will?" Locke asked.

            "No," Edgar grinned. "Just getting your hopes up. So are you going?"

            "Do I have to?"

            "Yes."

            "But --!"

            "Yes, Locke, you're going."

_Continued_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: This is a very A/U story. I mean, besides the characters, it really has nothing to do with FF VI. The plot of the story is loosely based on the French _faible Tristan et Ysuelt, which I do not take credit for. Characters are all property of the geniuses at Squaresoft, though I wish even one of them was mine … *sigh* Maybe __next year …. Okay, on with the fic. Please let me know if this is any good at all!_**

_          _          _

            A cool breeze pushed against the face of Locke Cole, who was leaning lazily on the helm of the Blackjack. The young man smiled thoughtfully and reached behind his head to tighten his bandanna, all the while looking out at the budding sunrise ahead of the soaring airship that he was supposed to be piloting. However, the Blackjack seemed to be doing well enough on its own, so Locke let his thoughts wander as the ship tore through the early morning mists.

            The first rays of sunlight met Locke's face, and he rubbed his eyes as he yawned involuntarily. Night shifts were always the worst, and even though he had slept most of the previous day he was having trouble staying awake.

            Deciding the only way to stay awake was to move, Locke began to walk slowly around the deck. He crossed his arms over his chest, attempting to fight off the chill of the air. He frowned as he traversed the wooden deck, trying not to think about how much he missed his warm bed at Figaro. 

            He leaned on the railing at the front of the Blackjack, looking down and marveling at the mountains and trees that seemed so insignificant below him. So different from the desert, Locke thought. Edgar was right on one part; Locke enjoyed seeing something different.

            That did not quell his anger completely. Locke remembered how Sabin had laughed when he had learned of Locke's mission. He swore sometimes Sabin acted more immature than himself, even though Sabin was six years older. Edgar had not even defended him against Sabin's jests; Locke supposed that was his payment for stealing, but all the same he did not appreciate it.

            Locke was jolted from his brooding as he felt the sickening lurch of falling. He pushed himself away from the railing, frenzied. The Blackjack was losing altitude, fast!  He whirled toward the controls only to find his platinum-haired friend smirking at the helm, suddenly pulling the ship up from his deliberate descent and nearly causing Locke to fall.

            "Is this your idea of piloting, Cole?" Setzer asked as Locke steadied himself and approached, his eyes still slightly bewildered. "You don't make a very good helmsman at all."

            "The Blackjack can manage itself, Setzer," Locke pointed out, watching as Setzer's scarred face broke into a wide smile. "And I can do without your antics, thanks. You scared me to death."

            "I should hope so," Setzer replied, tugging absentmindedly on the collar of his expensive dark coat. "You know better than to leave the controls. What if something happened?"

            "You leave the helm all the time," Locke defended himself. Setzer smiled wryly, and nodded.

            "Yes I do. The sky is my home, Locke. I own it. I can feel when something is wrong. You, my friend, cannot. Luckily, your shift is over. Go below and get ready. There's some cold water if you need to wake up. I'll let you know when we get there."

            "We're close?" Locke asked, interested.

            "Fairly. The Blackjack is the fastest ship in the sky," Setzer said proudly. "Get going. You look dead, and that needs to change before Vector."

            "Okay, okay!" Locke sighed, heading for the hatch with little enthusiasm. "It was your idea to give me night duty!"

            "No," Setzer said, causing Locke to pause, still halfway visible in the hatch. "It was Edgar's."

            "I swear he's trying to kill me," Locke said grimly, then promptly disappeared before Setzer could defend the absent king.

            Half an hour later, Locke climbed onto the deck once more to meet a now bright morning. He was clean shaven, dressed in the fancier clothes that Edgar had insisted upon. His hair was, for once, neatly combed, although it was still secured with the familiar bandanna. He tugged at a sleeve awkwardly, his worn leather gloves left below. He felt odd, to say the least.

            Setzer, sensing his presence, looked over and rolled his eyes. Locke could be wearing the king's own dress uniform and he would still look mischievous. 

            "Are you sure the bandanna is allowed?" Setzer asked. 

            "Are you about to tell me it isn't?" Locke challenged.

            "No," Setzer smiled. "You've cleaned up well. Besides, you could never outshine me anyway."

            "Right, Setzer," Locke said, exhaling slowly as he ambled toward his friend. "So what's the plan?"

            "Plan?" Setzer repeated, quirking an eyebrow.

            "Yeah, you know. Something besides waltzing into the Emperor's audience and asking for the girl," Locke said, rolling his eyes. "I thought we were supposed to be diplomatic."

            "Yes, that is sort of the idea," Setzer agreed.

            "So?" 

            "So nothing. It won't be difficult," the pilot replied, his lips curving into a slight smile. "Have you ever been to Vector, Locke?"

            "Hm. Not as a guest, and certainly not by air," Locke replied evasively. Setzer gave a knowing smile.

            "Then you might want to step toward starboard side. The view is splendid."

            Locke frowned at Setzer's odd behavior, but did as his older friend asked. The unpleasant expression on his face faded into awe, and he gripped the railing tightly as he leaned without fear into the open air as far as he could.

            Vector was enormous, a gargantuan city of stone, steam and steel. Locke's eyes gave the city a careful once over, but his gaze was drawn uncontrollably to the massive tower that stretched nearly as high as the airship's path. The Imperial Capital was a breathtaking sight from above, and Locke laughed a little.

            "It's magnificent," he said lightly, letting his eyes drink in the sight as Setzer chuckled.

            "We're going to circle around to land in the training yards. Vector doesn't have docks large enough for the Blackjack."

            Locke only nodded distractedly, his focus clearly elsewhere. He was fully content to stand at the rail during their entire descent, but as the ship settled carefully on the open ground Locke's face fell. A group of men was approaching, all wearing the official uniform of the Imperial troops. 

            "We have company," Locke muttered to Setzer, who was busy disengaging the engines. 

            "What did you expect?" was his only reply, and as the engines died down Setzer came to grab Locke's elbow. "Well? Come along. We've got to go meet them." They quickly descended the airship, and made their way across the grass toward the assembled mass of soldiers.

            Locke nearly yelped in protest as Setzer discreetly nudged him forward, and he turned to glare at the pale pilot. Setzer returned a steady gaze.

            "You're the emissary, remember?" he reminded, his voice prodding. Locke groaned inwardly, but he resigned himself to his fate and continued forward. One of the soldiers broke away from the others, a welcoming smile on his honest face. Locke immediately softened to the man, who was dressed differently from the others. He was the commanding officer, that was obvious.

            "Greetings," the man spoke, extending his hand to Locke. "Welcome to Vector. I am General Leo."

            "Uh, pleasure," Locke nodded, shaking the general's hand dumbly. "My name's Locke Cole, and this is Setzer Gabbiani of the Figaro Air Fleet."

            "Yes," Leo's eyes sparkled with some foreign emotion as he met Setzer's smirk. "You're looking well, Gabbiani. Welcome back. I'm glad this time your visit is on better terms."

            "As am I," Setzer replied, shaking Leo's hand. "Vector is looking much better than when we last met."

            "And for that I thank you!" Leo laughed. Locke looked first at Setzer, then to Leo, and back to his friend with puzzled eyes.

            "Uh …" he began, a little less tactful than he had planned.

            "The General and I are … acquainted," Setzer explained swiftly. "We were …rivals of sorts, during the Wars. Last time that I saw Vector was during an air raid."

            "What?" Locke's eyes widened. "B-but then you …?"

            "Relax, Mr. Cole," Leo said, recognizing the expression on Locke's face. "That is in the past. There is a peace treaty, and I intend to follow it. You are both most welcome in this city. Now, shall we get inside?" 

            "Lead on," Setzer nodded, and Leo turned to give a quiet order to his troops before beckoning the two to follow him.

            "This way. The guards will watch over your airship, just in case any townspeople decide to get a bit curious," Leo explained. "I trust you had a pleasant trip?"  
            "Very," Setzer replied, and Locke couldn't hold back a snort.

            "Says you," he muttered, then immediately flushed as Leo gave him an amused look.

            "Gabbiani stuck you flying? That's a shocker. I was under the impression that your ship was too precious for the hands of others," Leo said, looking to Setzer.

            "I certainly wasn't going to fly both ways," the pilot quipped easily in return. The two continued to chat amiably, and Locke followed along in silence. His stomach dropped, and he tensed involuntarily as they moved farther into the base of his former enemy. It didn't matter that there was a peace agreement; old habits died hard. He had decided. He _really wasn't happy with Edgar._

*          *          *

            "Setzer," Locke whined. "I'm bored." There was an exasperated sigh from across the room. 

            "I know, Locke. I heard you the _last time you said that," Setzer replied, his voice tinged with impatience. He crossed his arms over his chest and slumped more deeply into the plush, velvety chair that he occupied. _

            "_Women. I should have known this would take forever," Locke muttered, slouching in his own chair and glancing around the lavish room they had been given to wait in._

            "The Emperor already made his apologies, Locke," Setzer sighed. "I know it isn't ideal, but it isn't anyone's fault that Miss Chere has been ill. There isn't a rush anyway, so let her have her time to get ready."

            "Yeah yeah," Locke mumbled into his hand, his chin resting in his palm. "I don't know why Edgar even bothered to send me. I mean, you were the one talking to Gestahl most of the time anyway. Like I even knew what to say."

            "You did fine, Locke," Setzer assured him. "You were just bored, that's all. But you were polite and engaging, that's what really counts."

            "Whatever. Remind me to never do this again," Locke said, tapping his free hand on the arm of the chair impatiently. After a few seconds of silence Locke got to his feet, causing Setzer to frown.

            "What _now?"_

            "I'm going to go ask how it's coming along," Locke replied, rolling his eyes as if Setzer's question was ridiculous. "Unless you'd like to sit here some more?"

            "Whatever you want to do, emissary," Setzer said wearily, waving his hand dismissively at his friend. Locke frowned at him before pivoting on his heel and heading to the door on the opposite side of the chamber.

            "Excuse me," Locke said as he poked his head out into the hall. The guard standing in the corridor looked over, smiling politely at Locke. Locke suppressed a grimace, wondering if the guard was there for their own benefit or to keep an eye on them. Either way, it seemed he had the man's undivided attention.

            "Yes, Mr. Cole? Is there something you needed?" the young man asked.

            "I was just wondering how things were progressing," Locke said. "You know, if Miss Chere is any closer to being ready for departure?"

            "Sorry, sir, I don't have that information," the soldier replied. "You'd have to go check for yourself."

            "Am I … allowed to do that?" Locke asked. The man shrugged his shoulders.  
            "I don't see why not. You are a respected guest of the Emperor, so I'm certainly not going to stop you."

            "Excellent. Could you point me in the right direction?" Locke grinned. 

            "Just go down the corridor and up the stairway. The double doors at the end of the hall open into Miss Celes' chambers."

            "Great. Thanks a lot," Locke said, and he was out of the room bounding down the hall in an instant.

            "Mr. Cole, I wouldn't …!" the soldier began, but as Locke didn't slow his pace he let the words fall away, shaking his head. 

            Locke didn't see the gesture; he was too busy trekking down the ornate hallway. Following the soldier's instructions, he easily found himself outside identical ivory doors carved with the most beautiful and intricate rose design that he had ever seen. This had to be it. Cautiously, he rapped on the door.

            "Miss Chere?" he called. "Excuse me, is someone there?" There was no reply, and Locke frowned. Even if Celes Chere wasn't available to speak, surely she had servants running around in there. Deciding that it was either onward or back to sit in that boring room, Locke's hand reached out and calmly turned the brass knob to push the door open.

            "Hello?" he said, stepping slowly across the threshold. 

            He didn't see any servants. In fact, he didn't see anyone at all except for the figure of a blonde woman facing away from him, standing with her head bowed over whatever she had in her hands. 

            "Miss Chere?" he asked, announcing his presence. It seemed to be the wrong thing to do; the woman whirled toward him, an angry glint in her ice blue eyes as her wavy blonde hair swished about her neck. Her deep purple robes twisted about her, revealing hints of the white dress beneath them. Whatever she held was promptly pressed to her chest beneath her arms, effectively hidden from his view.

            "Just what do you think you're doing? Who the _hell are you?!" _

            "Er," Locke tripped over his voice, completely flustered at the open aggression she showed him. "I'm sorry, Miss Chere. I'm Locke Cole, from Figaro? I had just come by to ask …"

            "Get out," Celes hissed.

            "But I just want to know …"  
            "Get out! Right now!" she demanded, her voice louder and more forceful. One of her hands shot out, blindly reaching for the first thing she could find. Her palm came in contact with a shoe, and she scooped it up without thought. 

            "Hey now …" Locke began, putting his hands up in a show of surrender. 

            "Leave!" Celes shouted, flinging the shoe at him with expert aim. It struck him on the shoulder, and he recoiled in surprise. Seeing the serious anger in her eyes, he decided not to risk it. Turning, he hurried from the room and slammed the door behind him.

            Leaning against the doors from the outside, Locke rubbed at his shoulder and frowned to himself. That hadn't gone well at all, and he still didn't find out what he wanted to know. Sighing in frustration, he pushed himself upright and began his walk back to where Setzer was. 

            "You really owe me big, Edgar …" he muttered to himself.

            Setzer raised his eyes as Locke came back into the room, noting immediately the dark look on his friend's face. Locke flopped back into his chair, and saw the expression Setzer had directed at him.

            "So …" Setzer began.

            "Don't say anything, Gabbiani," Locke growled. "I feel sorry for Edgar."

            "That bad?" Setzer asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

            "Pissy as hell," Locke shrugged. "Guess we're stuck waiting."

            "Hm. I could have told you that."

            "Oh shut up!"

*          *          *

            "Gentlemen?" the guard from outside said as he stepped into the room. "We apologize again for the inconvenience. They are awaiting you in the antechamber."

            "Finally," Locke muttered, keeping his voice low enough so that the man wouldn't hear, and the he raised it as he stood. "Thanks a lot. Come on, Setzer. Let's get out of here." The two men followed the soldier out of the room, silently making their way through the halls. Finally the guard stopped outside of a wide, open doorway, and gave Locke and Setzer a small salute.

            "Just inside here, gentlemen. Have a safe trip home," he said, and without waiting for a reply he was gone. Locke looked at Setzer, who merely shrugged and ushered him into the room.

            There were quite a few people in the room, and couple of whom Locke didn't recognize. Leo nodded at the duo from his seat across the carpeted floor, and Gestahl stood in the middle of the room with a blonde woman in his embrace.

            She raised her eyes as she sensed visitors, and glared viciously at Locke with her arms still around the old man. Locke swallowed consciously; he would have taken a step back from her intimidating eyes, if not for the fact that Setzer was right at his side. She looked away from Locke, her face growing carefully neutral as she pulled back from the emperor. 

            "I'm very proud of you, Celes," Gestahl said simply, and Celes smiled bravely for his benefit. The Emperor turned, noticing Locke and Setzer at last.          

            "Ah, Mr. Cole, Mr. Gabbiani. I'm afraid I must wish you farewell now and be off. I've many things to attend to."            

            "Of course, Emperor," Locke replied automatically, bowing slightly as they stepped aside to let the elder pass.

            "Yes. Well then. See Celes safely to Figaro," the Emperor said, motioning to a couple of his attendants. 

            "Absolutely," Setzer said, nodding respectfully. Gestahl returned the gesture and left the room, his servants trailing behind. Locke watched him go, and then turned to find Celes was conversing quietly with another elderly man. The tears in her eyes as she grasped at the man's hands were real, and Locke turned his face away. It was a private moment.

            "Grandpa Cid," she said quietly, keeping her voice low enough so that the others in the room couldn't hear. "You sure that you'll be all right?"

            "Celes," Cid smiled, chuckling a little. "Of course I will. I'm not _that inept, you know. I'll be fine, and so will you."_

            "I'm going to miss you," Celes admitted, bowing her head. 

            "So will I, darling, but you'll be all right. And I'll be in Figaro for the wedding," Cid assured her, pulling her into a hug. "Celes, you do remember what we talked about?"

            "Of course."

            "And you have _it?" _

            "Yes, yes, how could I forget?"

            "I just want you to be happy, Celes," Cid said. Celes squeezed him tightly.

            "We'll see, Grandpa."

            "Celes," Leo said gently, standing as he spoke. "It's time. Let's go."

            "Yes," Celes agreed, pulling away from her grandfather and steeling her face once more. "I'm ready." 

            "Good. Locke, Setzer, shall we?" 

            "This way," Setzer nodded, turning and vacating the room. Locke followed him automatically, avoiding Celes' eyes and the open hostility she had shown him.

            "Your room is just at the end of this corridor here," Setzer said, attempting to keep up conversation as he led Celes through the underbelly of the Blackjack. He was laden with baggage and feeling slightly bitter; Locke, being the official emissary, was busy showing Leo around the magnificent ship, and Setzer was stuck playing bellhop. Celes was going to be joining Locke and Leo, but for some reason she insisted on accompanying Setzer to her room first.

            "You have a fine ship, Mr. Gabbiani," Celes said politely, her voice civil but slightly cold. Setzer didn't blame her; a fool could see that she wasn't particularly happy about her current position. Setzer turned into the cabin, setting the bags down with a heavy sigh.

            "And here we are," he said, making a grand sweep with his hand. Celes remained silent; she wandered around the small space, lingered for a moment next to the dresser, and turned.

            "Thank you. I'd like to join Leo and Mr. Cole now," she informed him, the indifferent expression on her face eerily frigid. Setzer nodded.

            "They're, uh, waiting on deck for you. Just follow the corridor back the way we came …"

            "Thank you," Celes said as she brushed past him, disappearing into the hall. Setzer watched her go, and once she was out of earshot he gave a low whistle.

            "Wow, Edgar, what a bargain _you've made," he muttered to himself, and picked up a couple of the larger bags to move them into a safer position in the corner of the room. He was on his way to the door again when a glint of silver caught his eye in the mirror on the wall above the dresser. Curiosity piqued, Setzer went over to investigate._

            "Hello, what's this?" he purred, his pale hand reaching out to carefully scoop up the small argent flask that sat on the polished wood surface. "How did I manage to forget you in here, hmm? Well, let's get you back to your brothers and sisters then, shall we?" Deciding not to wonder how part of his liquor collection had ended up in the usually unoccupied room, he left the cabin to go redeposit the flask in its proper place, all the while whistling a tune under his breath. 

*          *          *

            The sun was setting with fiery hues as they finally took off, bound once more for Figaro. Locke stayed on deck, watching Vector shrink and disappear into the distance until it was only a dark spot on the horizon. Celes stood a safe distance from him, watching her home get farther away with a sad expression on her face. She finally turned away with a sigh, and distractedly pushed her tangled, wavy locks out of her face.

            "Good night," she said to Locke and Setzer, heading for the hatch as she spoke. Locke watched her go, his hands buried deeply in his pockets. Setzer was at the helm; he waited for Locke to turn toward him before smiling thinly.

            "Go ahead and get some sleep, Locke. I think you need it," he said.

            "That obvious?" Locke said with a slight laugh, and rubbed at the side of his face wearily. "I think I'll do that, then, unless you need any help?"

            "Me?" Setzer scoffed, leaning casually on the helm with a smirk. "No, Locke, there's nothing you could do. Besides, a storm is coming."

            "How do you know?" Locke frowned. Setzer tapped the side of his nose secretively.

            "You know better than to ask that, Locke. Don't worry, I've got everything under perfect control. Go and get some sleep."

            "You don't have to tell me twice," Locke smiled gratefully. "See you tomorrow, Setzer." 

            "Sleep well," Setzer replied, turning to face the sky as Locke made his way slowly to the hatch. As he descended into the corridor below, he couldn't help but feel slightly unnerved. He didn't know what he had done to make Celes Chere hate him so. Shrugging it off, he headed pointedly to his room. At the moment he was too exhausted to think straight. It would have to wait until later.

Continued


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Disclaimer – It's all Squaresoft … I own nothing. Storyline is AU, and as I said is based loosely on the French _faible Tristan et Yseult, which I also do not own. The version I know was written by Béroul, I believe (though I know there are quite a few versions out there). Just in case you cared to know ^_^. I'm still writing this, really I am. Apologies to anyone who was waiting for me to update … I hope you're still out there! Anyway, reviews are always welcomed!_**

_          _          _

            Setzer had been true to his word, and Locke groaned as the ship underwent another unnatural tremor. To say there was a storm was putting it mildly, and Locke buried his nauseous face in his pillow.

            "Damn you, Setzer," he groaned piteously. It wasn't that he didn't trust Setzer's piloting skills; Setzer was the best pilot on the whole continent. But Locke could get tremendously airsick, and the sway of the ship was beginning to get unbearable.

            Locke sat up, bracing himself and wiping damp bangs out of his feverish face. He wasn't going to be able to sleep like this. He really needed a drink. Something hard. Knowing Setzer's affinity for liquor, he stood shakily and made his way out into the hall. Surely his scarred friend wouldn't mind if he indulged himself this once. 

            He walked carefully down the hall, one hand trailing along the wall to steady himself in the case of any sudden lurch, and headed for the room Setzer had dubbed 'The Entertainment Chamber'. Locke smiled wryly; he would just as soon have called it 'The Poker and Booze Room,' but Setzer insisted that was "the exact same thing."

            As he got closer to his destination, he frowned. A light was burning in the large room, filtering into the dark hallway like a beacon. What was Setzer doing away from the helm, especially at a time like this?! The thought spurred Locke to a greater speed, and he burst into the room expecting to find Setzer nonchalantly pouring himself a shot of something or other. He opened his mouth, ready to reprimand the man, when he realized that the pilot was not in the room at all. Instead he was met with the sight of Celes Chere sitting casually on one of the plush couches, her legs tucked beneath her indifferently and a book on her knees.

            She looked up at him, and his tirade died into a rather unflattering squeak of surprise. He stood dumbly in the doorway, and she stared at him impassively.

            "Uh …" Locke said, mentally slapping himself for being unable to form even _one intelligible sentence. She slammed her book closed, the sound resonating in the wide chamber._

            "Is something wrong?" She asked.

            "Uh … no. I … saw the light," he answered feebly. 

            "I lit the lanterns," she replied tonelessly. Locke wanted to roll his eyes; he could see that the gas lanterns that hung on the walls were all burning cheerfully, lighting the room like it was day. Then she continued. "I hope that's all right."

            "Um, sure," he shrugged. "I just … kind of, didn't expect you to be in here."

            "Oh. I'll go." She made as if to stand, and Locke took a step toward her.

            "No!" he said, and suddenly felt embarrassed as she looked at him oddly. He cleared his throat. "What I mean is, I'll go. You were here first."

            "You have more of a right to be in here than I do," Celes pointed out.

            "Not really," Locke shrugged. "You're the queen-to-be. You can do whatever you want." At those words Celes' face grew stony, and she lowered her face to stare at her feet. Locke winced. 

            "Look, um … I didn't mean to offend you," he said, as seriously as he could manage. "I don't know why you're so upset, but I'm sorry, whatever it is."

            Celes looked up at him, surprise flashing for a moment in her frosty blue eyes. She sighed, and nodded wearily. "I'm not offended … thank you."

            "I'll leave you alone. I mean, with you being sick and all, I wouldn't want to impose …" he paused, noticing the bemused twinkle in her eyes. Her lips tightened in an amused smirk, and she leaned back into the couch comfortably.

            "What's that supposed to mean?" she asked.

            "Uh … I don't understand," Locke replied. "They said you had been ill, I just thought …"

            "They said I was ill?" Celes interrupted, then suddenly laughed. "Oh, now I see. To excuse my unprepared state. Of course they said that."

            "So … you aren't sick?" Locke frowned. Celes actually smiled.

            "No," she admitted. "I was being stubborn, that's all. But they'd never tell _you that, Locke of Figaro. No, that wouldn't be fitting."_

            "Stubborn? What do you mean?" Locke asked, taking another couple of steps into the room. Celes sighed and motioned to him with her hand.

            "You may as well come sit, instead of shouting across the room like this," she offered, waving toward the other end of the couch. Locke moved to take the seat, his nausea momentarily curbed by curiosity. 

            "I … was being stubborn because … because I didn't want to go," she confessed, smiling ruefully. Locke's eyes widened.

            "What? You're against the marriage?" Celes snorted at the words.

            "Oh, I agreed to the marriage. I'm here, aren't I? But that doesn't mean I have to like it. Would _you want to go to a land that had until recently been enemy territory, to marry a person that used to be your country's archenemy?" Locke stayed silent for a moment, then he smiled._

            "Yeah. Yeah, that's how I'd feel too," he said. "I don't really understand why a person would want to marry a stranger in the first place, but you make sense. Of _course you don't like it!" Celes was smiling again, the expression warmer this time. _

            "Why did King Figaro send someone like _you to fetch me?" she asked. Locke's eyes fell in momentary embarrassment._

            "Oh, that," he said. "Well, I sort of … did something, and … he decided that this trip would be my punishment, of sorts. He has taken to disciplining me, ever since our father passed on …" 

            "You're the king's brother?!" Celes interrupted. Locke chuckled, relaxing more into the couch. She wasn't such a bad woman, Locke decided, once she dropped the icy façade.

            "Not biologically, no," he replied. "Edgar's father … well, he adopted me, I guess you could say."

            "No! Really?" Celes asked, genuinely interested. "I didn't know the late King Figaro had an adopted son!" 

            "It wasn't ever official, and it certainly wasn't a _public fact," Locke explained._

            "Well, tell me how it happened," Celes asked. Locke raised an eyebrow.

            "I'll tell you, if you tell me how you got to be so close to the Emperor," he bargained.

            "Deal," Celes agreed. "So?"

            "Well, I was five. Maybe six. I don't really know, honestly," he began. "I was a street orphan."

            "Oh, that's horrible. That young?" Celes asked. "All by yourself?"

            "Except for the other kids, yeah. I never really knew my parents, so it wasn't any big deal to me," Locke shrugged. "I was used to it. Nobody suspected a little kid of thieving, so I could eat at least. I moved around a lot, just to avoid getting a reputation in any certain place. I was a pretty smart kid, actually. Until I decided it would be a good idea to pilfer from Figaro Castle's kitchen.

            "I was caught, of course. The punishment wouldn't have been too harsh, really, since I was so young and all. A few days of confinement and a slap on the wrists. But then in came Father with his voice of steel and those regal eyes … he only had to look at me, and I was scared shi…, out of my mind. He very calmly explained that I was going to have to stay in the castle and work off my debt to him."

            "And you never left," Celes said. 

            "No, I didn't. I had never been happier, and Edgar and Sabin … The princes were my heroes. They were older and stronger than me, and I wanted desperately to be their friend. There weren't a lot of other kids around, so they kind of liked having me around too. I asked the king once, after I was sure that my debt had been long since repaid, if he wanted me to leave. You know, since I was just taking up space. He just looked at me, and he asked … he asked … 'Locke, do you _want to leave Figaro?'_

            "Of course I said no, but I would if he wanted it. I would have done anything for the guy. He had fed, clothed, and sheltered me, and I loved him like the father I never knew. So he listened to my answer, smiled his sage smile, and said, 'Well then, why the hell did you bring it up, boy?' 

            "Pretty soon after that I started calling him Father, just like Edgar and Sabin did, and none of them minded. The king … I think he actually liked it. Gods, I do miss him, I really do …"

            "I'm sorry," Celes said softly as he trailed off. "I didn't mean to dredge up bad memories …" Locke shrugged back at her, giving her a casual smile.

            "It's no big deal. I have no bad memories of my father," he replied. "So then, I believe we had a deal?"

            "Oh," Celes said, reaching up to fiddle with the waves of golden hair that fell down her shoulder. "There isn't a lot to tell, really … I was orphaned, too. My father was an Imperial soldier, and he died in battle. My mother died shortly after. I ended up living in Vector because of my grandfather. He was the only living relative I had left, and he agreed to take me in." 

            "Your grandfather? What is he, one of the Emperor's advisors or something?" Locke asked. Celes promptly snorted, startling and amusing Locke at the same time.

            "Oh no," she shook her head. "Grandpa is a scientist. He's one of the head Imperial researchers, and has been working for the Empire for a very long time. I was nine when I came to live with him, and already he was basically in command of every research project that Vector had."

            "That's all very interesting … but you didn't answer my original question," Locke said. Celes wrinkled her nose.

            "I'm _getting to it," she retorted. "Are you __always this impatient?"_

            "No," Locke said, crossing his arms in automatic defense. 

            "Touchy too, I see," she observed tonelessly, earning her a rather baffled glare. She grinned suddenly, tilting her head to one side slightly as she regarded him. "Your feathers are easy to ruffle, Locke. You don't have to be so sensitive."

            "I'm not sensitive," Locke defended himself. "Not very often. Now will you get to the point already?"

            "Fine," she sighed, letting it go with a slight smirk of amusement. "As you know, the Emperor has a son around my age."

            "Yes, I know. The heir apparent is … um, quite well known," Locke spoke carefully. Celes laughed out loud, shoulders shaking suddenly as she lifted a hand to stifle the sudden outburst.

            "You don't have to hedge around it!" she told him, eyes sparkling. "Kefka is a fool, and everyone knows it. Is that what you meant?"

            "Uh … certifiably insane is actually the term I would have gone for," Locke admitted sheepishly. Celes shrugged, her laughter dying off at last.

            "He _is a strange one. He wasn't so bad as a boy," she said. "We were friends at first, because there weren't many children around. It was through Kefka's influence that the Emperor took notice of me. Once he found out I was the granddaughter of his most prominent scientist, he found time to make sure I was raised properly. I was educated and trained as his own daughter would have been, had he had one. I do believe he intended to wed me to Kefka someday." She pulled a face, and Locke chuckled despite himself. _

            "Wouldn't that be a bit like wedding your brother?" he asked jestingly.

            "We weren't related by blood, but … it would have not been ideal," Celes said, rolling her eyes. "I do believe Kefka was jealous of the attention his father gave me, and once we became rivals he severed whatever friendship remained between us. I don't believe either of us would have agreed to marry one another."

            "What do you mean, rivals?" Locke was curious. 

            "Swordplay," Celes said tersely, and smiled as he gawked. "What, I did have more ambition than needlepoint and weaving. Noble women do not have a lot of stimulating hobbies, and I had a natural flair for a saber."

            "The Emperor let you learn?" Locke asked, surprised. 

            "Well, he wasn't happy about it at first, but he couldn't stop me. I trained in secret for a while, with Leo," Celes said, smiling at the memory. "Once I was able to best both Leo and Kefka in a fight, I let him know what I had been doing. He was impressed, although reluctant to admit it, and let me practice in the open from then on."

            "Amazing," Locke breathed, then smiled in embarrassment. "Sorry, I mean … it's just …"

            "You expected me to be a frail little princess?" she finished for him. "It's all right, most people do. I guess I just have too much of my father in me for my own good. Are you a swordsman, Locke?"

            "Um, me?" Locke repeated. "I can get by … that's mostly Cyan and Edgar's department. I'm better at stealth than open challenges."

            "A man of the shadows? Espionage?" Celes guessed. Locke shrugged.

            "If I must," he replied evasively. "If I have to fight, I'm more adept with knives. I'm sure when we get to Figaro, you will be able to keep up your swordplay with Cyan or someone else. Of course, you might not quite be up to Cyan's level …"

            "You wouldn't happen to mean Cyan Garamonde, would you? Of Doma?" 

            "The same. He's second only to Sabin in Figaro's military, and Edgar's main protector. Pretty nice guy, if you can get past all his hang ups. The guy's way too formal."

            "Maybe you're just too informal," Celes suggested with a hint of smugness. Locke shrugged.

            "Maybe I like it that way."

            "Touché," Celes replied. "In any case, thank you. I would like to be able to practice every now and then, assuming the King doesn't mind."

            "Edgar? Nah …" Locke waved a hand through the air. "He'll probably be glad you'll have something to do. Figaro isn't exactly the biggest hot spot for activity, you know, being in the middle of a desert."

            "… That was a very bad pun, Locke."

            "What? Oh," Locke suddenly rouged a little. "I didn't realize …"

            "I didn't think you did," Celes smiled. "Do you have many duties at Figaro?"

            "Uh … not really. Not unless something comes up that Edgar thinks I'd be good at," Locke shrugged. "Why?"

            "Because … I find you easy to talk to. Perhaps we will be able to talk in Figaro as well," she replied. Locke fidgeted a little in his seat.

            "Um, sure. I'm usually around," he replied. The ship gave a little shudder, and Locke followed suit as his body suddenly reminded him why he had come to the room in the first place. Celes' face turned to one of concern.

            "Are you all right?" she asked as he got to his feet. 

            "Yeah … just a little airsick, is all," he replied, heading toward the liquor cabinets. "I get like this whenever there's a storm in the sky, it's nothing new. That's why I came in here in the first place … to get a drink. Would you like to join me?" His hands were shaking slightly as he reached for one of Setzer's faux crystal glasses, though the trembling was not just due to the abnormal shifting of the ship. Celes made him nervous, but not in the same way as she had before. He found her easy to talk to as well; far too easy to talk to. Her smile made him nervous, and he knew why. He didn't like the reason.

            _Don't get any ideas, Cole, his mind berated him. __She's Edgar's bride, there's no use even thinking of her as anything else. Keep your eyes to yourself!_

            "Yes, thank you," Celes replied to his question, pulling him out of his thoughts. 

            "What'll it be?" he asked without looking back at her, pulling out another glass. He wouldn't look at her unless he had to, and he'd just get the hell out of the room once he was done with his drink. No harm done.

            "Whatever you're having is fine," she said evenly. He lifted an eyebrow at that; she couldn't be as heavy a drinker as he was, and Setzer had some pretty strong stuff. He shrugged, reaching blindly for the first container his hand found. 

            His fist closed around a small silver flask.

            He opened it and peered inside before lifting it toward his face to inhale slightly. Shrugging, he poured a liberal amount in each glass. It looked something like brandy, and Locke wasn't picky. And if Celes didn't like it, too bad for her.

            Turning on his heel, he carried the drinks back the couch and dutifully handed one to Celes. She thanked him quietly and swirled her glass around, watching him as he sat. Fighting the urge to blush, Locke looked anywhere but her face as he sat back down on his end of the couch. 

            "Shall we toast something?" she asked, turning toward him again in the same manner that she had done before. Locke looked at her at last, a little surprised by the suggestion.

            "Like what?" he asked blankly.

            "I don't know," she said, shrugging. "It just seems like the thing to do, don't you think? How about … to peace. Peace between our two nations, something that will last this time." 

            "Hmm, I'll drink to that, I suppose," Locke replied, raising his glass. "And to your marriage. I think you and Edgar will get along just great." Celes smiled, the expression slightly sad, but she lifted her glass to clink it against Locke's before raising the drink to her lips. 

            Locke did the same, only he downed as much of the alcohol as he could in one draught. It burned slightly going down, but that wasn't unexpected. What was strange was the odd taste of the mixture … it didn't taste like any sort of alcohol that he had ever had before. 

            "What is this?" Locke asked absently, pulling his glass up to eye level to examine the remaining liquid. Celes stared down at her glass as well, her face tightened in confusion.

            "I don't know," she admitted. "It's unlike anything I have ever had. Does your friend the pilot collect strange wines?" Locke smiled a little and set his glass aside.

            "That must be it," he said. "I hope whatever it was wasn't rare, though, 'cause there wasn't that much, and …" his words trailed off as he met Celes' eyes. It felt like the wind had been knocked clean out of his lungs. His mouth hung open slightly, but he was helpless to do anything else. He couldn't move his stare. 

            What the hell was it that he was feeling? His chest was suddenly tight and awkward, and the rest of him was growing hot and cold at the same time. He looked at Celes helplessly, watching as her eyes widened in sudden surprise.

            "Do you … feel that?" she asked quietly, and Locke wondered if he was only imagining the sultry tinge to her voice. He nodded dumbly, attempting to speak.

            "What is it?" he managed, unintentionally leaning closer to her. He was having trouble hearing or something. Yes, that was it. Why else would he be leaning closer to her? She shrugged feebly, her lips moving for a moment in silent confusion as no words came to mind. Locke couldn't stop looking at her lips, and he suddenly felt the strongest urge to still those lips with his own.

            That notion brought his train of thought to a sudden, screeching halt, and he slapped a hand over his mouth as if he had actually spoken his thoughts. The way that Celes suddenly gave a sharp, surprised intake of air, he wondered fleetingly if maybe he _had spoken. _

            She was on her feet suddenly, swinging her glass around wildly as she looked down at him. Her eyes were unusually anxious.

            "Locke? What did you pour in these glasses?" she asked, quiet but deadly serious. Locke pried his fingers away from his mouth, struggling to his feet as well.

            "I don't know. First thing I grabbed. Celes …" he said, his tone almost pleading suddenly. He honestly hadn't known where that had come from. She looked away from him to the bar, her eyes furrowed in worry.

            "Locke? Show me?" she asked quietly. Locke nodded, grabbing her wrist and pulling her to the counter. He didn't release her when they got there, but neither said anything. Celes set her glass down and looked around. Locke pointed to the drained flask, which had been left on its side.

            "That one."

            "That …?" Celes repeated, mouth falling open in horror. She lunged for it suddenly, picking it up as if she wasn't sure it was real. "Oh no! How the hell did this get in _here?! I specifically put it on the dresser where no one would find it …"_

            "Celes?" Locke interrupted her frantic words, tugging on her captured wrist gently. She tried halfheartedly to pry herself out of his grasp then, but when he didn't let go she gave up willingly. "Celes, slow down. What are you talking about? That flask is yours?"

            "Yes." The word came out as almost a sob, surprising Locke. She turned toward him, her eyes clearly troubled. "How did it get in here, Locke? How?!"

            "I don't know. Setzer probably mistook it for his own. He has liquor hidden all over this ship," Locke said softly. "Why? What's gotten you so riled, all of a sudden?" He knew it was serious; his suspicions were confirmed when a single crystalline tear appeared on her cheek. Without thinking he reached up to caress it away, his hand lingering far longer than normal. She leaned into the touch, though the worry in her eyes never dissipated.

            "Locke? What are you doing?" she asked softly.

            "I don't know. What are you doing?" he asked as she rested more deeply into his palm.

            "I don't know …" she replied, pulling away suddenly. "This is wrong, Locke, all wrong!"

            "Tell me?"

            "This drink wasn't meant for anyone, you know!" she burst, angry now. "My grandfather made it specially. It's very powerful and manipulative! It wasn't meant for us!"

            "What are you talking about?" Locke pressed gently, still not understanding.

            "My grandfather is a very intelligent man," Celes said, breathing in deeply to try to calm herself. "He knew … we both knew I would likely feel nothing for Edgar when I married him."

            "That happens a lot …"

            "I know!" she interrupted. "But my grandfather didn't want it to happen to me. He wanted me to be happy! So he manufactured this special tonic … it was meant for me and Edgar, you see? To make each of us feel something for the other."

            "What? So … you're saying this stuff was a … a love potion or something?" Locke asked incredulously. Celes bit down on her lower lip for a second.

            "Something like that." Locke snorted, shaking his head.

            "That's insane, Celes. Look, your grandpa just told you that to make you feel better, I'm sure it wasn't really …"

            "You think he couldn't do it?!" Celes roared. "You think it's impossible? Well it's _not, Locke! Vector scientists know many things, my grandfather most of all! They know ways to manipulate people! Surely you have heard of the slave crown of the Empire, as your people called it?!"_

            "Well, yeah … but … that was for soldiers! To make them more loyal!" Locke protested. Celes shook her head.

            "It doesn't matter. The concept is the same! My grandfather used the same basic research to make something different, something to make people fall in love! He gave it to me … for Edgar! And now it's ruined!" Tears were becoming more frequent, though she had yet to make a noise indicating their presence. Locke had the urge to wipe them away again, but curbed it furiously. This was all crazy!

            "Celes, think about what you're saying," Locke said, trying to be rational. "I mean, just because I drank that stuff, doesn't mean that I'm instantly in love with you. And wouldn't that make you in love with me as well? We're not, okay?!"

            "Oh really?! Then why are you holding my hand, Locke?! Why am I letting you?!" Celes demanded. "Why do I want you to touch my face again, Locke? Tell me that, huh?" Locke felt himself shudder at her words; tentatively, he reached trembling fingers toward her cheek. She moved into the touch, feeling the strange jolt between them as he jumped slightly.

            "You see? What does this feel like?" she whispered, seeming suddenly very crushed. Locke sighed, trailing her tears away on his fingertips before pulling away again. 

            "Celes … it can't be," he shook his head. "You're to be Edgar's …"

            "I know that," she whispered. "Don't you think I know that? Why do you think I'm crying?" 

            "Please tell me this is all some kind of joke," Locke said weakly, pleading. Celes squeezed her eyes shut, and she shook her head slightly.

            "I can't …" she said. "I'm sorry …"

            "It'll go away, right? We can find a way to stop it, or just ignore it till it goes away?" 

            "It isn't going to go away, Locke," Celes said, her eyes snapping open again.

            "It has to! Maybe … maybe if we just think about it really carefully, we can snap out of it or …" He was cut off rather abruptly as Celes thrust her chin forward, pressing her lips against his trembling ones. He made a slight noise of surprise, but even as his mind told him to stop right that second he reached an arm around her waist. It was as if his mind had suddenly shut off, and it frightened him as he returned the kiss against all better judgment.

            "Do you believe that, Locke …?" she asked softly after they had pulled apart, their noses only centimeters apart. Locke swallowed with difficultly. 

            "Celes," he whimpered, staring into her eyes with open fear, and suddenly he had released her as he sprinted toward the door. He didn't look back or take notice if she called after him, he just ran. 

            He couldn't get near her. He couldn't allow anything like that to ever happen again. Potion or not, he had no right going near Celes Chere. She was Edgar's. She had been from the moment he first saw her.

            Damn.

            Edgar and Cyan stood side by side in the midmorning heat, watching as the Blackjack made its final docking preparations. Neither spoke, content to stand in silence, but Cyan cast his friend a supportive glance. Edgar was nervous, whether or not the suave king actually wanted to admit it. 

            "Hey! Am I too late?!" a voice called, and they turned their heads to find Sabin barreling barefoot across the smooth stones. He looked a positive mess in his sullied training outfit, but the excited gleam on his face kept Edgar from telling him so. 

            "No, they're just landing," Edgar said, smiling slightly at his brother's appearance. Some things never changed.

            "You could have at least _attempted to look presentable," Cyan rolled his eyes. Sabin grinned, punching the man good-naturedly in the shoulder. Unfortunately, good-natured to Sabin was a bit much for Cyan, who scowled at the taller man's actions as he fought the urge to rub the abused muscle. _

            "C'mon, Cyan. If I'd gone _all the way to my rooms on the __other side of the palace, I never would have made it back in time!" Sabin explained himself. "Doesn't bother you, does it Edgar?"_

            "No," Edgar sighed, giving his brother a knowing look. "Gods know we're all used to you running around like a ruffian, and Celes will have to get used to it eventually. She might as well know what kind of person you are from the start."

            "Hey! Are you insinuating that I'm a ruffian?!" Sabin protested, mocking hurt at his twin's words. Edgar grinned then.

            "Of course not. Just that you look like one," he quipped, turning back to the airship before them. "Shall we go meet them?" He started walking, and the other two followed along on either side of him. 

            Locke was the first to descend the airship, appearing just as they were walking up. Edgar smiled at the sight of him, but the expression quickly faded as he noticed the bitter expression on the young man's face. He didn't greet them as he neared; he hardly spared them a glance.

            "Locke? What's the matter with you?" Cyan asked, confused as the young man brushed past him angrily. His appearance was rumpled and his eyes were red, as if he had been crying. Locke glared at him.

            "Leave me alone," he nearly snarled, leaving the stunned swordsman gaping after him. It was far beyond Locke's character to be so hostile. Sabin noticed as well, and stepped in front of Locke's path.

            "Was there a problem or something? Locke, why are you --!" Sabin was cut off sharply as Locke shoved him bodily out of his way, continuing to stomp with a slight stagger toward the palace entrance. The three men all stared at him with utter disbelief as he disappeared into the castle. Sabin couldn't find anything to say; he stared at his brother helplessly. Edgar shrugged, taken aback.

            "Don't mind him," a voice said from the airship's direction, and the three turned back to find Setzer standing with a young woman at his side. "He's been temperamental all morning. We ran into a storm and it made him ill ... I think he's still a bit sick."

            "I see," Edgar frowned, looking back at the castle for a moment. "Sabin, would you go see if he's all right? I don't think a little motion sickness would make him that way." 

            "Sure," Sabin nodded, and sprinted off toward the doorway eagerly. Edgar ran a hand through his hair with a sigh of worry as he watched after his brother, then suddenly remembered his manners and turned back to the others.

            "I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I wasn't expecting that. Setzer, are you sure everything's …?"

            "Yes, everything went well," Setzer replied. "The Emperor sends his regards. Now, if you want to give me a hand with the luggage, Cyan …" He nodded his head in the direction of the airship, and the swordsman nodded wordlessly. With a polite nod to Celes he passed her, following Setzer back to the ship. Edgar looked at the blond woman he had been left alone with, feeling uncharacteristically blank. He couldn't think of one witty, charming comment. 

            "I'm sorry we had to meet under these circumstances, Miss Chere," he said softly. "But as you might be able to tell Locke kind of surprised us, and he's very important to us, so …"

            "It's quite all right," Celes responded, prying her eyes away from the direction in which Locke disappeared to meet Edgar's eyes. She offered him a tired smile. "I'm a bit worried about him too."

            "Oh?" Edgar's eyebrows rose slightly.

            "We had a chance to talk last night. He mentioned he wasn't feeling well," Celes said. "He thought a drink would help him." Edgar gave a small chuckle.

            "No wonder he feels so poorly," he said, then after clearing his throat he gave a small bow. "In any case, I'd like to welcome you to Figaro Castle. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Chere."

            "Likewise, Your Majesty," Celes replied, unable to do anything but smile at Edgar's dashing expression. She had heard the king was a charmer, and apparently he lived up to that reputation. His nose wrinkled slightly at her words.

            "Please, just Edgar," he asked. "Anything else seems odd, what with our arrangement …"

            "Just Celes then," she said, nodding. "I don't mean to be rude, but do you think I might be able to go to my rooms first? I'm not used to flying, and it was hard to sleep …"

            "Absolutely," Edgar replied lightly, flashing her a grin. "Have you a lot of luggage? I should wait to help carry it along …"

            "You … carry luggage?" Celes couldn't help but exclaim. Edgar threw his head back, laughing. 

            "I've got arms you know," he said, smirking. "If Setzer and Cyan can play bellhop, so can I." Celes watched him carefully, but returned his smile. This was certainly not what she had been expecting.

            Sabin stood outside Locke's door, tapping on the wood softly. He knew Locke wasn't asleep yet; he had been there in time to see him shut and bolt the door, after all.

            "Locke, c'mon, open up. It's just me, okay?" Sabin said, but received no response. He jiggled the knob, knowing full well that it wasn't going to give. He sighed. "Locke, I _could break this door in, you know. Let's do this the easy way, huh?"  
            "Go away, Sabin," Locke's muffled voice grumbled from inside the room. _

            "Locke, please …"

            "Just go _away!"_

Continued


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N**: Disclaimers and stuff can be found on previous chapter pages. Apologies for not updating more quickly, but real life does not like to give me time for this story. I can't promise faster updates, but feel free to prod me if you'd like to see faster postings. ^_^. That said, please enjoy and leave a comment if you can. 

            Lunge. Thrust. Parry. Parry. Retreat. Parry. 

            He leaned heavily on the dark, weathered stone of the rampart wall, his body slumped over his crossed forearms in the sweltering heat that even the shade of the awning above him could not abate. His half-lidded eyes lazily watched the spar taking place on the training yard a good distance below him. 

            Lunge. Slash. Parry. Lunge. 

            He fought off a yawn, and ignored the bead of sweat trailing slowly down the side of his temple. The two below him continued to exchange blows, oblivious to his presence. The only sound in the still, heavy afternoon was the occasional clash of iron as their rapiers met with force.

            "She's pretty good, isn't she?" 

            Locke started at the voice, turning and nearly falling as he clutched desperately at the wall for support. Sabin smiled, amused at the younger man's reaction, and nonchalantly took the spot next to his startled friend against the wall. 

            "Damn it, Sabin," Locke grumbled.

            "Didn't mean to scare you," Sabin shrugged, leaning on the wall as Locke had been doing. With a sigh, Locke returned to his former position as well. "She's pretty skilled though, wouldn't you say?"

            "Hn," Locke grunted, carefully not meeting the blond's eyes. "I guess she's not half bad." His hand wandered along the wide stones, finding a crevice and digging idly for chipped pieces of mortar and granite.

            "Not half bad?" Sabin scoffed. "She's been sparring Edgar for about ten minutes now, and hasn't even lost her blade once. She's gotten just as many hits in as he has as well. Didn't think she'd be half that good."

            "…Whatever," Locke shrugged half-heartedly, flicking a chipped piece of stone off the wall. Sabin turned his tan face toward his companion, carefully appraising the young man whom he thought of as family. 

            "Anything you want to talk about, little brother?" he asked lightly, careful not to aggravate the other. Locke's shoulders tensed a little anyway.

            "No."

            "You sure? I mean, you've been brooding all week. It's been five days since you've returned from Vector, you know. Sure you aren't sick or anything?"

            "… I'm sure."

            "And nothing's bothering you?"

            "Nothing you need to know about," Locke said softly. Sabin turned a little, completely facing Locke rather than the match below.

            "I know when you're lying, Locke. Listen, I only want to help you. There's got to be a reason why you've been on edge. And you've been avoiding Celes like she's got a plague or something. What's with you?"

            "Lay off it, Sabin," Locke sighed. "I _said_ you didn't need to know."

            "But there _is something," Sabin pressed. "Well, if it was something that affected Figaro, you'd tell us, right?" _

            "Of course I would. It's a personal problem, and I intend to have it solved soon," Locke said firmly. "Now, would you shut up about it?" Sabin started to speak, but then thought better of it and gave a short laugh. Clapping Locke on the shoulder in a friendly fashion, the blond fighter smiled.

            "All right, all right. I'm just worried, you know?" he said, and cast his glance back down at the sound of laughter. Celes and Edgar had finished their bout, and were sharing some sort of joke. Sabin's expression grew amused. "Funny thing, don't you think? A week ago, I never could have pictured Edgar with someone like her. Now, though, I feel like she's family already. You should try to get to know her, Locke. I think you two would get along pretty well."

            Locke didn't respond, but he sighed audibly. Sabin didn't think much of it.

            "Well, I have to get down there. Cyan and I have some things to discuss. If you change your mind about … talking and stuff, I'm here. Okay?"

            "All right."

            "Okay," Sabin repeated. "You coming down too?" Locke was still for a moment, but then he nodded and pushed himself away from the wall. He met Sabin's eyes and inclined his head, inviting the older man to take the lead. Sabin opened his mouth to speak but then thought better of it, smiling instead. Pivoting on the toe of his training boot, he started a lazy pace down the narrow walkway with Locke at his wing.

            "You know, you ought to stop by the kitchens," Sabin began to speak again, keeping the conversation light and safe. "Matron's been doing a lot of experimenting in preparation for the wedding … there's some pretty tasty stuff just laying around going to waste, and I know she'd just love to stuff it down that skinny throat of yours, Locke." Locke's lips curved into a smile at the thought of the motherly woman that had taken a big role in raising both himself and the two princes. Now that all three of them were grown, the nurturing nature of the kind lady had drawn her to the kitchens, where she held the basic position of head chef of the castle. 

            "You're probably right," Locke replied, feeling that Sabin was waiting for an answer. "She's starting in on all that already?"

            "Well, the wedding isn't all that far off, you know. Besides, you know Matron. Always has to have everything _just so_," Sabin shrugged, happy to see a smile on his younger friend's face once more. They had reached the stairway, and Locke had to rush to keep up with the blonde prince. Sabin had the annoying habit of running when on stairs, an unconscious action that used to get him in trouble constantly. They reached the outer corridor that trailed along the training yards, and the extra space allowed Locke to walk at Sabin's side. He didn't notice the pair approaching them until it was too late to flee.

            "Hey, nice match there Edgar!" Sabin called cheerfully, waving a hand at the pair. "Either you're getting rusty, or she's suspiciously well-trained."

            "I don't think I like either of those implications, Sabin," Edgar threw back, smiling despite the tone of his words. Sabin shrugged, then grinned at Celes. The blonde woman had her rapier propped casually on her shoulder; she returned the grin with a smirk.

            "Is there a problem, Sabin?" she asked sweetly. "Surprised that a woman knows how to use one of these?"

            "No … I was surprised about that the first time you told me. _Now I'm surprised because you're actually a match for Edgar. Better not let anyone else know about this, brother; gossip spreads quickly around here, you know."_

            "Are you implying that he should be embarrassed of me?" Celes demanded, raising an eyebrow. Sabin threw his hands up in front of him.

            "No no no! Of course not! Just kind of sits badly on the old kingly pride, dontcha think? Being outshone by your fiancée?" Celes smiled then, tilting her head slightly.

            "Well, I'll keep my mouth shut then. But I am _not_ taking up needlepoint or anything else like that!" Sabin burst into a fit of laughter, leaning on Locke's shoulder as he shook a little at the thought.

            "Oh, that would be something! Somehow I don't see you as the domestic type, Celes!" he managed to say between laughter. Locke shifted uncomfortably when Edgar and Celes both looked at him, as if noticing him for the first time. When he shyly met Celes' gaze she looked away, pretending to wipe a bit of sand out of the corner of one eye. Locke's eyes wandered to the ground; he began to count the cracks on the toe of his worn leather boot. The action did not go unnoticed by Edgar, whose face did not change despite the observation.

            "Sabin, you're headed to the armory, aren't you? Won't you escort Celes there so she can redeposit her weapon?" he asked tactfully, shooting his brother a look. "I need to have a little discussion with Locke." 

            "Sure thing!" Sabin replied with a smile, never giving any indication that he had caught Edgar's silent plea. "Right this way, Celes. I'm on my way to discuss some matters of security with Cyan. Would you like to join us?" The two headed off down the hall, leaving Locke and Edgar alone. The king's worried eyes fell on the younger man, who was trying to avoid Edgar's stare without looking suspicious.

            "Let's go inside first," Edgar suggested. "It _is_ rather hot out." He motioned for Locke to follow him, and they walked in silence to one of Edgar's private studies. The blond waved Locke toward one of the plush chairs, and moved around the cherry wood table to pour himself some water from a strategically-placed decanter.

            "Thirsty?" he asked Locke, who had taken his seat silently.

            "No thanks," Locke replied softly, his fingers playing with the arm of his chair nervously. Edgar sighed and sank into the chair opposite Locke. His worried blue eyes bore into Locke's uncomfortable face, and for a moment neither spoke.

            "I wish you had come to me, Locke," Edgar finally said, absently twirling the water around in his partially full glass. Locke frowned slightly in confusion.

            "What are you talking about, Edgar?"

            "About whatever it is that's bothering you, of course," the king replied, regarding Locke seriously. "I know these past few days have been abnormal, and granted everyone is entitled to time to adjust, but I sense that something else is wrong in your case. You've nearly turned into a recluse, Locke. You hardly speak to me and you practically disappear anytime Celes is around …" he sighed, running a hand down his cheek in a moment of uncharacteristic uncertainty. "Are you angry with me, Locke? Is it because I sent you to Vector? Because I honestly didn't think that you would be so opposed to the idea or I would have…"

            "Edgar," Locke interrupted. "No, that's not it. I'm not angry with you at all."

            "You're sure?" Edgar asked, smiling a little. "I'm relieved about that anyway. So what _is it, Locke?" _

            "Nothing," Locke shrugged. Edgar smirked, pressing the smooth crystal of his glass to his lips for a moment. 

            "It's not nice to lie to the king, Locke." Locke frowned, growing impatient at the questions. First Sabin had been on his case, and now Edgar was heading down the same path. It's not like he had done anything wrong. He hadn't been acting _that odd, had he? He'd only been doing what was best for everyone; staying away from Celes until he could sort out whatever it was that had happened to them._

            "I'm not lying, Edgar, not really. I'm fine," he said, trying to assure his friend. 

            "But something is weighing on your mind," Edgar said, holding up a finger when Locke made as if to protest. "Don't deny it. You've been acting off, Locke, and you've been terribly quiet. Even Cyan has commented on it, and you know that he likes to keep personal opinions to himself. We're worried about you, all of us. Even Celes …"

            "What?" Locke interrupted, sitting straighter at the words.

            "We've had the opportunity to spend quite a bit of time together since her arrival. She mentioned having had a nice talk with you on the trip back from Vector, but you haven't spoken to her since. I think she must be worried as well, though she hasn't actually said as much." Locke nodded, feeling something inside of him sink ever so slightly at Edgar's words. He slouched back down again.

            "You've been like this since Vector. Did something happen?" Edgar asked. Locke felt slightly startled at the question. What was Edgar implying? What did he know? Some of his apprehension must have reached his face, because Edgar leaned forward. His expression had become serious.

            "I have to ask you, Locke, and I want an honest answer. I trust your judgment," he said in a calm tone. Locke's brow scrunched in confusion.

            "My judgment? About what?"

            "You were in Vector. If you saw or heard anything that gave you indication that they are not upholding their end of the treaty, you need to tell me. I deserve to know about anything that might be a danger to this kingdom," Edgar explained. "If you're feeling anything … suspecting anything … please tell me. You know I value your input."

            Locke blinked, taken aback. Edgar had jumped to conclusions; they _were logical conclusions, anyway. He assumed that Locke was acting skittish due to a lack of trust for the Empire, and that he had been avoiding Celes due to her citizenship. Well, it was a nice cover anyway, and Locke couldn't exactly tell Edgar the truth. _

            _Oh, it's nothing Edgar. I'm just madly in love with your fiancée, that's all._

            No, that would not do at all. Steeling himself and taking a deep breath, Locke met Edgar's eyes and prepared to bend the truth.

            "All right, Edgar. I'll level with you. No, I still don't trust the Empire," he said evenly. It was true enough; he didn't trust the Empire, and it would be a long time before he did. Edgar nodded slowly.

            "I see," he said. "Did something happen to make you feel this way? Something at Vector?" Locke sighed; this was going to be harder than he thought.

            "Not specifically," he shrugged. "Everyone was congenial enough, at least those that we interacted with. I guess it's just a feeling I have … I know that sounds lame."

            "It's not lame, Locke," Edgar said gently. "You have good instincts, and I trust them. Do you think it warrants any investigation?" Locke paused in thought. Maybe if he said yes, he could persuade Edgar to let him be the one to conduct the investigation. Any excuse to get away from Figaro and a certain woman would do. 

            "I guess you can't be too careful," he replied. "But, you wouldn't want to be obvious about it. You wouldn't want the Empire to feel you didn't trust them. If you sent anyone, they'd have to be stealthy about it." At that Edgar smiled.

            "Yes, and who do I know that fits _that_ description?" Locke gave a tiny smirk, and Edgar sighed. "I would feel bad asking you to leave again so soon, though. Are you sure you're up to it?"

            "How bad could it be? I don't even have to let anyone see me, do I?" Locke replied, trying not to sound too anxious. Edgar nodded.

            "That's true. However, there is the matter as to where I'd even send you in the first place. You can't exactly infiltrate the Imperial Capital and listen in on Gestahl's court meetings."

            "What about the occupied territories?" Locke suggested, and Edgar raised a curious eyebrow. Taking that as a cue, Locke continued. "The Imperial troops are supposed to be clearing out of the invaded areas, right? But they probably aren't out yet. If the Emperor was planning anything, don't you think the commanders of these troops would know about it?"

            "You're probably right," Edgar nodded. "And as I recall, one of the largest battalions currently in that position is camped just outside of Jidoor. If there was anything in the works, I'm sure there would be word in that camp."

            "Jidoor's not that far," Locke noted. "A couple of days ride at most. I wouldn't even need a ship. Do you think it's a good idea?"

            "I think it has merit, even if I don't like it," Edgar sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. "I don't want to give off the impression that I'm doubtful, but I don't want to risk the safety of my people either. I'll be pulling our troops back soon, and I could be leaving innocent people defenseless. South Figaro would be wide open to attack."

            "It's not wrong to worry about your people, Edgar," Locke said seriously. "I'm sure the Emperor is not without his own precautions, so you should be allowed to take yours."

            "All right, Locke, all right," Edgar sighed. "I'll send you to Jidoor. But I want you out of sight and avoiding any sort of conflict. You're not to fight or harm anyone, is that clear?"

            "As crystal. Unless my own neck is at risk, that is," Locke replied, flashing a teasing grin at his friend. Edgar smiled along with him.

            "I trust you won't be so careless. I guess it's settled then. When would you like to go?"

            "As soon as I can," Locke replied immediately. The two hammered out the rest of the details, completely oblivious to the blonde woman pressed against the wall of the hallway outside of the door, listening to the entire plan.

*          *          *

            Only hours later, Locke was standing at the front gates, a pack slung over his back and his hand fisted around the reins of a rather impatient chocobo. The large bird pawed at the sandy stones with one clawed foot, eager to start moving. Locke ignored the bird's fidgeting, his eyes on Edgar. The king had accompanied him to the gate, discussing last minute issues as they came to mind.

            "Okay okay," Locke finally said, interrupting Edgar's rambling. "You make it all sound so _hard_! What, would you like to come along too?" Edgar gave a lopsided grin, and pulled on his cloak's edge.

            "Sadly, I couldn't even if I wanted to. A group is supposed to be arriving from Vector shortly; attendants and such for Celes, to help prepare for the wedding. It's only proper that I be here to greet them. That and the whole king business. I'm afraid my disappearance would not sit well with the chancellor or any of my other advisors." Locke grinned at Edgar's playful tone, feeling better already. Soon he would be out of Figaro, and there would be time to clear his head of this whole mess.

            "Too bad for you that Sabin doesn't have hair as long as yours, then. Otherwise you could get him to fill in for you," he replied. Edgar rolled his eyes.

            "Sabin? Do you honestly think the big ox could act in a dignified fashion for more than three seconds at a time?" 

            "Point taken. He'd never agree anyway," Locke said, and was suddenly interrupted by a sharp but mostly gentle peck on his shoulder. Sighing, he turned to look at the large liquid-black eyes of his ride.

            "Guess she wants to get going," he said, pulling himself up onto the bird's back. He turned back to Edgar and gave a mock-salute. "I'll be off, then."

            "All right. Be careful. Remember, I want you back here in a few days. No more," Edgar replied. Locke waved his hand dismissively.

            "Yes yes, I know the rules. A curfew at my age … honestly, Edgar," he said flippantly. Edgar smirked.

            "Safe journey, Locke." Then, with lightning quick movements, Edgar gave a sharp blow to the chocobo's flank. The bird, while not harmed, was startled, and it lunged forward with a squawk of dismay. Locke instinctively grabbed for the reins, nearly falling off at the sudden quick start. Edgar laughed and waved the young man off, smiling at the dirty look that Locke cast back in his direction.

*          *          *

            A little more than a day and a half later found Locke cold and irate, crouching in the underbrush on the edge of an Imperial camp. His chocobo and most of his equipment had been left at the inn in Jidoor; he had allowed himself only to take the things he thought he would need. He had already made one wide sweep around the camp, glad that the nearly moonless night had sheltered him from any of the sentries that wandered the camp's perimeter.

            The base was larger than he had anticipated. There were enough soldiers to take out a small town, and Locke shuddered at the thought. He really hated the empire; he wouldn't put it past them to do something that destructive. Clutching his deceptively small assassin's knife in one gloved hand, Locke crept furtively through the trees.

            There was no way he'd ever be able to reach anyone of importance this way. The camp was far too big and tightly organized to allow him infiltration as he was. That left only one option, one that Locke had been hoping to avoid. Sighing, he resigned himself to the task. 

            Waiting for the last of the guards to pass by his line of sight, Locke sighted a small tent on the outskirt of camp and dashed toward it. Throwing back the flap effortlessly, he dove in and let the cloth fall back to its original position, sending him into near darkness. His eyes adjusted quickly, but not fast enough to notice the lone soldier who had been startled by his sudden appearance.

            "Hey," a voice demanded as a hand descended on his shoulder. "Just what do you think you're …!" Locke jumped, startled by the soldier's presence, but he acted quickly. Twisting around, he managed to land a sharp elbow to the area he hoped the soldier's temple was. The man gave a gasp of pain, momentarily paralyzed by the blow. Locke took advantage, grabbing the soldier by the shoulders and slamming his knee into the man's jaw. 

            With a sickening crack, the threat of the man shouting was eliminated. Locke let him drop to the ground, and waited for his eyes to adjust fully. Then he fell to one knee next to the mostly unconscious man, and began to strip him of his outer armor.

            "Sorry about this," Locke murmured a whisper as he began to put on the gaudy green attire over his usual clothes. "You'll be okay in a while though, so just sleep it off." Attaching the last buckle of the chest piece, Locke stood and looked around. There had to be a helmet around somewhere; the man hadn't been wearing one, but he knew that he owned one. His eyes fell on the sturdy headpiece and he hurried to pull it on over his bandana, scowling at the feel of it. The helmet banged around his ears, too big for Locke's head. He sighed, attempting to adjust it and failing miserably.

            "Oh well, guess I can't be picky," he sighed, returning to the comatose soldier and pulling him behind a rather large chest. He figured the man would not be found until he himself was safely away from the camp. Tucking his blade away in an accessible location, he ignored that fact that the clothes beneath the armor he wore looked awkward and strode out of the tent confidently. If he didn't draw attention to himself, he'd probably be all right. 

            The camp was pretty quiet, despite the fact that it wasn't that late in the evening. The soldiers that weren't patrolling sat in groups on stacks of crates or huddled around the fires that burned here and there. They were talking and drinking, but not in the raucous way that Locke had seen so often. Something was up, definitely, but he couldn't figure out what.

            "'Ey! 'Ey, 'old up there, kid!" a voice called out, and Locke suppressed the urge to wince. He wasn't being that careless, was he? Turning toward the source of the words, Locke's hand crept inconspicuously toward the hilt of his knife. The soldier approaching him didn't look happy, but he didn't look suspicious either.       

            "Who, me?" Locke asked casually, pointing a finger at himself as he did. The man nodded impatiently, waving some kind of rolled paper in his hand.

             "You doin' something important? I got somethin' you need to do," the man said. The style of his armor informed Locke that this man was of higher rank than the soldier he was impersonating. Damn, he had to do whatever this guy said or he'd blow his cover. Grimacing internally, he nodded his head.

             "Well, I gotta patrol soon …" Locke tried to get out of whatever task the man had. The soldier shook his head adamantly.

            "Forget that! Message just arrived from th'Emperor! You'd better take it to the General right away," he said, slapping the message scroll into Locke's hand as he spoke. Locke gaped for a moment; why the heck couldn't the man do it himself? The soldier just nodded to him and walked off, and Locke sighed. If that upper-level guy was afraid of delivering a simple message to this General, then Locke certainly didn't want to. He looked at the paper in his hands, locating the familiar seal that was Gestahl's. He thought about opening it himself for a moment, but quickly shook his head at the idea. Edgar had meant for him to keep a low profile; interfering with the Emperor's message would most surely get him in trouble.

            Slowly, he took off toward the center of camp where he knew the General would be. He wracked his brain, trying to figure out who would be the head of this camp. General Leo had been in Vector, so he probably wouldn't have come out here within such a short span of time. Leo wasn't one to be feared anyway … Locke sighed. He'd just deliver the message, hang back to hear what it said, and hope that it gave him enough information to take back to Edgar so he could get out of here. 

            The General's tent was easily located, being far more ornate than any other in the camp. Locke approached the sentry standing outside of the entrance, clearing his throat slightly.

            "What is it, soldier?" the sentry asked in a bored tone. Locke lifted the message scroll.

            "Message for the General, bearing the Emperor's seal," Locke explained. The sentry perked up a little at that, and nodded as he extended his hand.

            "Very well, I'll gi…"

            "What?!" a voice called out from inside the tent. "What the heck does the old man have to say _now_?!" Locke's eyes widened at the disrespect in the tone, and he watched as the tent's silken flap was thrown back to reveal a very unhappy-looking General.

            Locke swallowed with great effort, resisting the urge to bolt.

            Of _course. It was General Kefka. The Emperor's errant son._

            He was in deep trouble.

            Kefka strode out, his hand darting to snatch the scroll from Locke's still hand. Locke released it immediately, too shocked to do much else. His mind spun as he tried to think of a way of escape. He didn't want to face someone like Kefka if it came down to it; Kefka was like an insane man. He'd heard enough stories, some from Sabin's own mouth. 

            The pale general gave a passing glance to his father's seal, then tore the message open with a snarl. Stepping over to a crate, he set the scroll down and unrolled it hastily. Locke, who happened to be standing near the crate, couldn't help but glancing over at the script written on the fine parchment.

            As Kefka's scowl grew, Locke's wide eyes grew wider. The note was inquiring as to why the troops stationed in the camp had not yet made arrangements to return to Vector. The Emperor was basically entreating his son to surrender his base and come home. From the look on Kefka's face, this was not an option that appealed to him.

            "That stupid old fool," Kefka growled, slamming a fist onto the crate before spinning on his heel. "He actually intends to _follow_ the peace treaties? Doesn't he understand that this would be the best opportunity to crush Figaro, while their backs are turned?!"

            "Sir, I do believe with the agreements that your father has made, we no longer have a right to strike against the…"

            "Did I ask you?! When I want your opinion, I'll tell it to you!" Kefka burst, whirling on the sentry that stood nearly. The man shrank back, bowing his head.            

            "Of course, sir, I didn't …"

            "Shut up," Kefka rolled his eyes, then he suddenly turned to Locke. "When did this message arrive? Who brought it?" Locke's throat constricted for a moment, but he sucked it up. He was a good actor, he could pull this off.

            "I wasn't informed as to that, General sir," he said respectfully. "I was given that scroll by a corporal to deliver to you. He must have received it."

            "Incompetents!" Kefka snarled, putting a hand to his head in a melodramatic fashion. "All right then, which _corporal_ gave it to you, soldier?!" 

            Locke blinked. Oh, hell. He didn't know the man's name. He tried to remember if the man had identified himself, or if anyone had mentioned any name of any corporal.

            "Well?!" Kefka demanded, impatient. "Who was it, man?! Was it Kinnick or Biggs?!" Locke's mind clicked on the name Biggs … he'd heard it somewhere before …

            "It was Biggs, sir."

            "Fine. Then go get him and bring him here. I want to ask him something," Kefka ordered. Locke managed a sloppy salute, surprised to find that his hands weren't shaking like he felt they should be. 

            "Yes, sir. Is that all?!"

            "Did you see me saying anything else?! Get out of here!" Kefka barked. Locke nodded, turning and trying his best not to run away screaming. Kefka was beyond scary, if he did say so himself. He was ditching this armor and getting as far from this camp as he possibly could.

            However, he had not taken five steps before his plans shattered.

            "Stop where you stand!" Kefka said, and Locke couldn't stop the tension that built suddenly in his shoulders. He kept walking, praying that Kefka didn't mean him.

            "I said stop!" Kefka roared, and suddenly Locke's arm was jerked harshly as someone caught him with iron hands. It was the sentry; he tried to free his arm but the man held fast, dragging him back toward the general. His hand went for his blade, but it was stopped as Kefka suddenly caught his wrist. He winced as his arm was twisted at an odd angle, and his face was suddenly met with the fearsome scowl Kefka wore. Kefka's dark eyes traveled up and down Locke, carefully scrutinizing him, and then he laughed. It wasn't a good laugh; in fact, the sadistic tone of the laughter made Locke almost numb with apprehension.

            "Well, what do we have here? Spies should be more careful," Kefka fairly purred in his face. Locke blinked, stunned.

            He was _definitely in deep trouble._

Continued


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Disclaimers, etc. can be found on previous chapter pages. Many thanks to everyone who has bothered to review this so far. Yes, I am intending to finish this … it just might take a while. Your comments really do encourage me, though, thank you so much!

            Locke winced as the helmet was batted off of his head; he watched it topple to the ground and roll away on the thoroughly packed soil, almost glad to see the annoying thing go. He could feel Kefka smirking at him, and he didn't like it. A hand jerked his chin up rather brutally, so that he was face to face with the general once more.

            "You know, you should be glad I saved you the trouble," Kefka said, his grin bordering on maliciousness. "It would have been very hard for you to find Biggs, seeing as he left camp three days ago. Any soldier here would know that. So, that leaves me with the question as to who you really are …" He trailed off, his disturbing expression never wavering. 

            Locke bit the inside of his cheek, trying his best to keep a stoic face. He couldn't let anything slip; he would never be able to forgive himself if he caused trouble for either Edgar or Figaro. He was going to have to get himself out of this one on his own.

            "If you wanted this to be easy, you'd have explained yourself," Kefka continued after a moment of tense silence. "I suppose you'd like to be difficult though, wouldn't you." 

            "I have nothing to say," Locke said in a subdued tone, running over his options in his head. The sentry still had a good hold on his arm, and Kefka was only a couple of feet away. Actual escape at this point was not an option. He'd have to wait until an opportunity came up. 

            "Oh, they never do … at first," Kefka agreed, his words almost amiable. "They always break though, eventually. The question is, how to break _you_. I suppose you're entitled to a fair shot to redeem yourself. Who is it that sent you to watch me? My father?"

            Locke tried very hard not to think about what Kefka would do to him.

            "Was it Figaro?"

            He had heard stories of the general's unusual cruelty. He hoped it didn't come to that. But he wasn't going to say anything … he wasn't going to let Edgar down …

            "I was hoping that would be your answer," Kefka grinned at his silence, and with deftly quick movements he drew his fist back before slamming it into Locke's cheek. 

            Locke spun back a little, shock registering briefly on his face before being replaced with a harder emotion. With a snarl he attempted to rush the general, but the sentry was quicker. Catching Locke behind the back by both arms, the soldier effectively pinned Locke in place. He struggled briefly but soon fell still, realizing that he didn't have the strength to break away. Kefka laughed, watching the scene with an amused eye.

            "You're poorly trained. I almost pity you … so I'll give you one last chance," he said softly, calmly examining the nails on his right hand. Locke spat, ridding himself of the little blood that had split into his mouth. Kefka's lips twitched upward, and he took a step forward. 

            "Do you know how easy it would be to kill you?" he asked softly, leaning forward to catch Locke's angry eyes. "It wouldn't take much. Just a little blow …" he paused slightly as his hand flew up, stopping just centimeters from Locke's face. "Just the heel of my hand against your nose, and that would be that. Your cartilage would shatter, enter your brain, and that would be the end of you, my friend. There are faster ways to die … then again, there are slower ones, too."

            Locke swore at himself internally. He was so stupid to get himself into this situation. An idiot! And he had no choice but to stand here and take it … if only he could get to his knife …

            "Fortunately for you, I don't have a lot of time to spare on spies. I don't need information so badly that I'd take the time to interrogate you. So killing you fairly quickly won't be a real problem. But I'll ask you just once more, for civility's sake. Who is it that sent you?" Locke gritted his teeth and steeled himself. If he could duck fast enough and lay a good blow to the man behind him, he might be able to free himself and have enough time to gain some sort of advantage. Adrenaline was already pumping in his blood; it was now or never.

            "Go to hell," he hissed between his clenched jaw. Kefka smirked.

            "Is that it, then? Well, I hope whoever sent you is someone you're willing to die for. I tire of you." Kefka's hand drew back.

            Locke tensed, trying to steady his nerves.

            He needed to time this just right, and he'd only get one chance.

            Things started to go in slow motion.

            The hand started toward him …

            There was only one thought on his mind.

            Not Edgar, not Figaro …

            _Celes …_

            "Stop it this instant, Kefka!"

            Everything shattered. The fire in Kefka's eyes flickered as he paused, obviously surprised. The man behind Locke slackened his grip, and Locke himself tore his eyes from the general to find the source of the voice. It couldn't be. He was imagining things. He was …

            "What are _you doing here?" Kefka spat contemptuously, his hand falling to his side. Locke just gaped; there was nothing else he could do._

            "I can go where I please, Kefka, believe it or not," Celes retorted, her hands resting on her hips as she strode toward the scene. Her white cloak swished around her in an intimidating manner, concealing the sword she wore at her side. "Now, would you care to explain just exactly what is going on here?"

            "Nothing of _your_ concern. Why aren't you in Figaro like a good little girl?" Kefka asked, the mocking tone evident in his voice. Celes rolled her eyes, and then her glance flickered to Locke for the briefest second before icy eyes returned to Kefka. 

            "I don't need to explain myself to you."

            "Neither do I," Kefka responded. Celes snorted.

            "You do, because you are assaulting my bodyguard. Release him at once," she demanded, her voice void of any doubt or concern. 

            "Your _bodyguard_?!" Kefka scoffed. "Well, he's certainly doing a fine job of that!"

            "He's doing exactly what I told him to. I'd be stupid to trust you, Kefka. I asked him to investigate for me," Celes replied evenly. "It seems you have a problem with following orders."

            "What are you talking about?!" Kefka growled. Celes casually shook her hair, shrugging slightly.

            "I'm not naïve, Kefka. You of all people should know that. I follow the workings of the treaties quite avidly, as they affect me greatly. I heard you were in the area, and I know also that Father has called you back to Vector. Why are you still here?"

            "No one can tell me what to do! Least of all you!" Kefka burst. "Nothing's stopping _you_ from asking what's going on. You don't have to send spies like a _coward."_

            "I'm here, am I not?" Celes asked, raising one elegant eyebrow. "Father will not be happy to hear that you are not complying with his wishes. I have eyes, you know, and they see no readying for a return home."

            "Gestahl is a fool. He'll see reason soon enough, and then he'll be glad I'm still here," Kefka said confidently. Celes shook her head.

            "Gestahl is your father, and I wish you'd treat him that way. You may become Emperor one day, but for now _he_ is. So let him do his job. And tell your soldier to get his hands off of my man."

            "And if I don't? He is a spy, Celes, regardless of who sent him. You know the rules."

            "Don't make me do something both of us would regret," Celes smirked, gesturing to her right. Kefka turned his eyes the same time Locke did; Kefka scowled as Locke simply stared some more, unable to speak. There was another woman with Celes, but beyond that she was alone. She had no back up, no troops. How did she intend to take on Kefka then?!

            "Oh. You brought _her_," Kefka said flatly, but there was something akin to nervousness in his voice. Locke looked at the newly-noticed girl again, confused. She was petite and seemed quite shy; dark blonde hair tinted with greenish highlights was pulled into a thick ponytail that trailed down between her shoulder blades. Her intense green eyes looked back at Kefka, blank if not a little bored.

            "You don't sound pleased to see me, Kefka," she said in a soft voice. 

            "Why should I be? Nothing good ever happens when you're around," he growled in return.

            "I beg to differ," Celes said. "So let him go, and I will persuade Terra not to do anything …drastic."

            "She wouldn't. That would be treason," Kefka protested.

            "Accidents happen, Kefka. Who would trace it back to her?" Celes asked, smiling because she knew she had won.

            "Damn witch," Kefka muttered under his breath, and then sighed. "All right, all right." With a tired wave of his hand he called off his sentry, who let go of Locke immediately before taking a step back. Locke turned to glare at him, reaching up to carefully touch the forming bruise on his upper cheek before moving to adjust his bandana. 

            "Get over here!" Celes snapped, pulling him back to the present. He turned to look at her and was met with a hard expression; he returned it with a scowl, and stomped over to where she and the other young woman stood. What the hell was she doing here anyway?! And what had she been thinking?!  
            "Are you satisfied?" Kefka sneered. Celes turned back to the glowering general.

            "Not very. I hope you're planning to do what Father asks of you. I'd hate to have to inform my fiancé what you might be planning." 

            "So he sent you here?!" Kefka snarled. Celes gave a bored sigh.

            "Of course not. I came to Jidoor on my own accord. Terra and I thought we'd take in a show or two at the opera house and make a trip of it. I just thought I'd come pay my darling brother a visit while I was so close by. Now, if you'll excuse us, it's getting late and I'm tired of watching you bore holes into me with your stare."

            "Then get out of here, before I lose my patience."

            "Gladly," Celes said. "Come on." Turning on her heel, she started to walk out of the camp with purpose. The other young woman spared Locke a sympathetic smile before turning to hurry after the blonde, and Locke sighed as he took up the rear. His head was still reeling; what had just happened?  

            It was a terribly strained silence that hung between them as the trio walked back toward the city of Jidoor. Locke had been occupied enough at first, stripping off the cumbersome armor and throwing it carelessly into the wilderness around them. He had removed his bandana and used it to wipe the last signs of blood from his face before replacing it carefully in his hair once more. 

            Celes and Terra were ahead of him; at some point, they had started conversing quietly. Locke could not hear what they were saying, and it bothered him. He drug his feet, plunging his hands into his pockets and glowering in their general direction. Truth told, he was embarrassed. He should never have been caught in such a position. If Celes hadn't come along, who knows what would have happened to him?

            That thought brought up the question that had been plaguing Locke from the beginning. What was Celes doing away from Figaro anyway? She didn't seem to be offering any answers. With a heavy sigh, he decided he was done waiting.

            "Well?" he asked loudly. The two young women paused, turning their heads to look back at him. Celes smirked slightly.

            "Well what?" she replied smoothly.

            "Well _that!" Locke seethed, waving his hand frantically in the direction that they had come. "Just what the hell happened back there?! What are you doing here?! Oh god! Does Edgar know you're here?!" _

            "Yes and no," Celes said coolly, shrugging her shoulders faintly. "Does he know that I am away from Figaro? Certainly. Does he know that I came to that camp? Absolutely not. To his knowledge, I am finalizing a few last minute wedding preparations in South Figaro. Which we did do, by the way. Catching a ship over to Jidoor was spur of the moment. Terra and I decided we would like to see an opera." The two women exchanged glances, smiling, and Terra laughed a little. Locke frowned. 

            "I don't get it," he grumbled. "How did you know where I was, anyway?" 

            "I heard you talking with Edgar that afternoon," Celes said calmly. 

            "You eavesdropped on us?!"

            "Of course. What, am I not allowed to know what goes on in what will soon be my own kingdom?" she retorted, smirking. "Besides, I really did not want to stick around to listen to Sabin and Cyan discuss boring security routines. It is not my fault you two left the door open."

            "So, does Edgar know?"

            "Know that I am aware of you spying on my people? No, he does not know. I don't care for him to find out either," Celes said, shooting him a glare. Locke glared back. How could she be so calm about this all? He didn't ask her to come and save him! He would have been just fine on his own! And why did she think it was okay to lie to Edgar anyway?!

            "Are you all right?" Terra joined the conversation finally, having watched the two in silence. Locke looked over at her, surprised to see genuine concern in her vibrant green eyes. He nodded.

            "Just great. Listen, not to be rude, but who are you anyway?"

            "My name is Terra Branford," she introduced herself, holding out one pale hand to him politely. He shook the proffered palm, blinking. "I've heard so much about you from Celes! I think it's terribly adorable!"

            "…What?" Locke asked helplessly.

            "You two. It's so romantic," Terra said, smiling. 

            "_What_?!" Locke yelped, tearing his hand away from Terra as he turned his gaze to Celes. "You _told her?!"_

            "Of course I did," Celes sniffed. "Terra is my most trusted friend. She won't say anything." Terra nodded agreement at the statement.

            "Just _great," Locke said sarcastically. "Can this situation get any worse?! No, don't answer that! I don't want to hear it!"_

            "You're kind of strange," Terra said bluntly, the words not unkind. She smiled sweetly at him. Locke looked at her greenish hair. Who was she to call _him strange?_

            "I still don't see how Edgar let you out of Figaro," he said. "Not without a whole entourage of guards, anyway."

            "Terra is all the protection I need," Celes said. Locke gave her a funny look. He glanced at the petite girl, frowning. She did not look even remotely like a bodyguard. 

            Terra laughed at his look, and smiled empathetically.

            "I know, I don't look like much, do I?" she voiced what he was thinking. He nodded his head dumbly, unsure of what else to say. Celes sighed.

            "Edgar wanted to send someone else with me. Cyan, or even Sabin, but once Terra demonstrated her abilities he decided it was unnecessary," she explained. Locke was, if possible, even more confused by that statement. So there wasn't an entourage of guards waiting for them in Jidoor? That was a relief … sort of …

            "Perhaps it would be best to just show you?" Terra said.

            "Go ahead," Celes agreed. Terra held out one slender arm with her palm up, right in front of Locke's chest. She smiled up at him, and suddenly a tiny burst of flame shot up and hovered over her pale skin. Locke made a sort of strangled noise in his throat, stumbling in mid-stride. Suddenly the fire was gone, and Terra was watching him flounder about.

            "Sorry. I guess I should have warned you," she said in a mildly apologetic manner. 

            "What? But … you … and  …" Locke stammered, his eyes wide with confusion and a slight bit of fear.

            "Terra is a very unique individual," Celes said. "She was in a terrible accident as a small child. It probably should have killed her. My grandfather managed to save her, but in doing so he was forced to implant a few shards of phoenix magicite inside of her. She developed pyrokinesis as a side affect."

            "It's not so bad, really," Terra added. "It's kind of nice, actually. People think twice before messing with me."

            "I'll bet …" Locke said weakly. "Um … but if you are from the Empire, then … why are you _here_?"

            "I was part of the group sent to assist Celes with the wedding," Terra explained. "We arrived in Figaro shortly after your departure, or so Celes says."

            "Terra is my maid of honor," Celes added. "I would like to arrange for her to live at Figaro on a permanent basis. I don't see Edgar having a problem with that."

            "Probably not," Locke agreed distantly. "So … what are you going to tell Edgar that you have been doing?"

            "Just what we _have_ been doing," Celes shrugged. "Getting the alternations completed for my wedding dress in South Figaro. It isn't like we could have it done at Figaro, after all. There is no one there that could do it. We'll just pick it up on the way home."

            "So … we're just not going to mention that we ever ran into one another?"

            "I don't see why we should have to," Celes said. 

            "What about Kefka?" Locke asked.

            "What about him?" Celes replied.

            "He … well, won't he mention having seen you out here? It could get back to Edgar, you know. Oh hell, what if Edgar finds out I was caught? On pretenses of being _your_ bodyguard?"

            "Relax. Kefka won't say anything," Celes said. "He was forced to let you go, and that no doubt embarrassed him. He won't want to publicize anything that makes him look less powerful. And there is enough animosity between him and his father that he would never dream of saying anything to Gestahl."

            "Oh," Locke said, flushing slightly. He felt foolish still, for being caught in such a predicament. Celes smiled a little, her voice softening.

            "Locke, you did nothing wrong. You'll just report what you know to Edgar and that will be that," she said. Locke didn't dare look at her right then; he just nodded. He was afraid of what he would feel if he looked at her.

            "I don't understand why you've been avoiding me so much, Locke," she continued, her voice sounding strange at such a gentle tone. He steeled his jaw.

            "The answer is pretty obvious."

            "Avoiding it won't make it go away," she said. Locke rolled his eyes.

            "Facing it won't make it go away either."

            "But Locke …"

            "Can we please not talk about this now?" He stole a glance at Terra, who smiled sheepishly as his eyes fell on her. Celes sighed. It was a private matter, though she was sure she would probably tell Terra sooner or later anyway. She nodded slowly.

            "All right, Locke. But we're going to talk about this, mark my words."

            "Whatever."

            Silence came upon them once more, and Locke kept his eyes ahead of him. Jidoor was in sight now. It wouldn't be long until he was back in the inn, where he could curl up and try to forget this whole disaster. 

            "You're staying at the inn, Locke?" Terra broke the silence.

            "Yeah."

            "I hope you have a big room."

            "What? Why?" Locke's eyes narrowed slightly.

            "Well, it's not like Celes and I had time to book a room or anything," Terra said with a smile. "Besides, we're paying for a room in South Figaro; Edgar would be suspicious if we spent more of his money on _another room!"_

            "But … but you both can't …" Locke protested weakly. Terra seemed amused at his predicament, and Celes rolled his eyes.

            "You'll just have to buy another room for tonight, Locke," she said. "Get over it."

            "Hey! Why should I have to pay for you two?"

            "First of all, you should _try_ and act like a gentleman, for once," Celes began.

            "Hey!"

            "And secondly, it's your fault we had to come here in the first place."

            "I didn't ask you to."

            "Would you prefer that we did not? I'm sure Kefka would have been preferable?" Celes said, smiling at his sour expression. He knew he had lost.

            "Shut up," Locke grumbled. "You just better hope they have another room open."

            "Yes. It would be a shame if you had to sleep on the floor," Celes replied.

            "_Me_ sleep on the floor!" Locke's mouth fell open in protest.

            "What? You wouldn't make two ladies like us sleep on the floor, would you?" she said, the barest hints of teasing sparkling in her eyes. Terra smiled.

            "Of course you wouldn't, right Locke?"

            "Uh … guess not …"

            "You're a nice guy, Locke! I can see why Celes thinks so highly of you!" she said, oblivious to the way Celes' face rouged at the words. Locke closed his eyes; he desperately hoped there was another room he could rent. Staying in the same room with Celes could bring nothing but trouble. 

            The innkeeper gave Locke a curious look as he entered the establishment with two women trailing behind him. Locke's eyes pleaded with him not to ask questions as he strode up to the desk, a frustrated expression on his face.

            "Have you got any other rooms open tonight?" he asked. The innkeeper glanced back at the two women, who were talking quietly and generally paying him no mind, then looked back at Locke.

            "Depends," he shrugged. "You didn't say anything about no companions, Mr. Cole."

            "Well, I didn't know they were going to show up," Locke retorted, resisting the urge to grind his teeth or grab the innkeeper by the collar. "Apparently they have elected me to take care of them. So, room or not?"

            "I can give you the room across the hall from the one you got now," the innkeeper said; Locke breathed a sigh of relief before the man kept talking. "Course, it's going to cost you." His eyes sparkled as Locke gave him a dirty look.

            "How much?"

            "Well, this is pretty last minute. Not too many rooms left. I'll have to charge you one hundred and fifty percent," the man informed him. Locke muttered under his breath, looked back at Terra and Celes, and sighed.

            "Fine, fine. Whatever," he grumbled.

            "Up front, if you don't mind," the innkeeper insisted. Locke wanted to say that he did, in fact, mind very much, but he held his tongue. Reaching under his jacket, he produced handful of money. Counting it carefully, he threw the proper amount onto the desk. The innkeeper smiled.

            "I suppose I should warn you, it's a smallish sized room. Only one bed in there," he said, scooping the money up quickly. Locke frowned.

            "There's three of us!" he protested.

            "Not my problem, kid," the innkeeper shrugged. Locke scowled, feeling anger well up in him. Celes interrupted, her words every bit as diplomatic as the cool expression on her face.

            "The room will be just fine. Terra and I can share. Now, if you don't mind?" She motioned toward the stairway, and Locke shook his head in defeat. He trudged toward the direction she had indicated sullenly. He really wanted a drink.

            Too bad he didn't have enough money left to buy a decent one.

            "Are you ready to talk yet?" 

            Her voice jarred him harshly from the reverie that he had sunken into gratefully. Blinking his eyes back to reality, he straightened from where he was leaning on the railing and turned to glance at her through the corner of his eye. It was dark outside; the stars and the moon were the only light source besides the faint flickering that came from some of the town's windows. He could still see her perfectly.

            "I'd rather not," he replied, turning back to the vast expanse of night sky. She and Terra were supposed to be asleep. What was she doing outside?

            "That's too bad, because we need to talk," she said solidly.  He sighed.

            "What does it matter? It's not like talking is going to fix anything," he said bitterly. Celes took a spot next to him, looking up at the sky and crossing her arms over her chest.

            "It might if you try," she said softly. "You haven't spoken to me once since coming back from Vector. You run off whenever you see me. Why?"

            "Oh, why do you think?!" Locke said rather bitterly, reaching up to scratch the base of his neck nervously. "Maybe because I didn't want to go and do something really stupid because I can't keep my own traitorous feelings in check?!"

            "You weren't the only one that drank that potion, Locke," Celes said rationally. 

            "So? That doesn't make it right! Edgar's like my brother. I feel terrible enough that this happened in the first place; I'm not going to make it worse by screwing things up between us!"

            "And you think it hasn't been hard on me?" Celes retorted. Locke looked at her, unsure. Her face looked very serious. 

            "What?" was all he could manage to say.

            "I know it's not going to work out between us," she said. "But I thought we would at least be friends. It hurts that you think so little of me." Locke felt a sharp pang in his chest, and he sighed. This was not fair at all. Celes shouldn't be allowed to have so much power over him. But she did, and that was part of the reason that he couldn't afford to stay around her. He wanted to tell her to leave, but he couldn't do it. 

            "You know I don't think little of you," he sighed. "This is just the only way I know how to handle the situation. You and Edgar …"

            "I respect Edgar very much," Celes said, fiddling with the hem of her cloak. "He is a good person. I think in time I will grow to care about him very much. That doesn't change the fact that I'm in love with you, Locke. I don't think anything will."

            "It's not fair," Locke whispered, looking away from her again. He couldn't bear to see her face. It was only making things worse. "You are Edgar's …"

            "I'm going to be," Celes nodded a little. "But for now, can't I just belong to myself?"

            "It doesn't matter. You're still his, and I can't …" He stopped talking, mistrusting his voice. Why did it have to be so hard?

            Celes touched his arm then, and as much has he wanted to push her away, he couldn't bring himself to do so. He bit his bottom lip absently, and kept his eyes away from her. Why did it have to hurt so much?

            "It's already done," she whispered. "We both know that."

            "So what do you want to do about it? You can't very well just back out of the wedding, you know," Locke pointed out. Celes sighed.

            "I know that. I don't plan on trying. I am going to marry Edgar," she said, as much to herself as to Locke. "But I'm not married yet. Can't I do as I please, until then?"

            "Celes …" he murmured, unsure of what else to say. 

            "Can't I at least have your friendship, if nothing else?" she asked softly, her hand still resting on his arm. 

            "I don't … I don't trust myself …" he started unsteadily. She smiled then.

            "I trust you, Locke. I do," she assured him. "Can we please just talk for a while?" The last of his defenses crumbled entirely, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he turned to pull her into his arms. She returned the embrace readily, leaning against his shoulder.

            "I'm sorry, Celes. I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

            "You have nothing to be sorry for," she said softly.

            "I'm so messed up …"

            "It'll be all right."

            "No it won't. It will never be all right."

            "We'll find some way, Locke," she said. "We'll be okay." 

            Locke felt like crying. He knew she was lying; she probably knew it too, deep down. But the words felt nice, they felt safe for a moment. He tightened his arms around her and buried his face in her hair, trying to forget everything else. Life was cruel. There was nothing else to it. 

            "I don't want to let you go," he said desperately.

            "Then don't."

            "I … I have to," he shook his head. She pulled away slightly, enough to smile up at him as softly as he had ever seen her smile.

            "I'm promised to Edgar, but I will always belong to you, too. Stop pushing me away Locke."

            "I can't. I'm afraid of what will happen if I do." She reached up, her fingers trailing down his jaw lightly.

            "We won't let anything bad happen, okay? But I need to be with you. I need you to let me be your friend, at least. Please, Locke?" Locke sighed. Was this hurting her just as much as it hurt him? Did she feel awful too? He didn't want her to suffer …

            It was an unconscious effort, leaning forward toward her face. He kissed her lightly, too oblivious for a moment to realize that it was wrong. Then he lunged backward, suddenly all too aware of what he had done. She smiled sadly at him.

            "It's okay, Locke. It's okay."

            "I didn't mean to do that."

            "Yes you did," she replied. "I meant it just as much as you did."

            "But I shouldn't …"

            "It was just a friendly kiss. A kiss between friends. Right?" she offered. They both knew it was a lie, but it was a lie that Locke accepted gratefully. He nodded a little, smiling weakly, and she returned the expression before stepping back from him and reaching up to touch his bandana.

            "Why do you wear this all the time?" she asked. He shrugged vacantly.

            "I don't know. I'm used to it. It's who I am."

            "I like it," Celes said. "It's cute." Locke snorted, crossing his arms.

            "It is not!"

            "Oh yes it is."

            "Celes! I'm not a guy known for cuteness! Cut it out!"

            "What? Can't a girl express her opinions? It _is _very cute and I can say so if I want to!" she retorted, smiling playfully. He frowned and yanked the cloth from his hair, balling it up in his fist and shoving it in his pocket.

            "There. No more cuteness, see?" Celes smirked and ruffled his messy hair.

            "You're wrong about that."

            "Ah! Stop it already!"

            "You're far too easy to rile up, Locke," she pointed out, smiling. "Learn to take a joke." He huffed dramatically, but then gave up and smiled along with her. It reminded him of their conversation on the airship, before everything had gotten messed up. It was comfortable. Maybe he could learn to control himself around her. Perhaps they could just be friends … after all, it was all they could be.

            Celes took his hand suddenly, pulling him toward the inn.

            "That cut on your face is going to get infected. Come on, I'll clean it out for you."

            "Celes …"

            "No protesting," she shook her head. "And then we're going to talk this all out in your room." Locke went rigid, but Celes seemed not to notice.

            "Can't we just … wait till we're both back in Figaro?"

            "No, of course not," she said. "Terra's already asleep anyway, and I'm not tired. Please, Locke?" 

            He sighed. There was no way he would be able to say no, but there was no reason he should say yes. He gave in, knowing it was weakness but unable to do anything about it. 

            He just hoped he didn't do anything he would regret later.  

_Continued_


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** …I'm so ashamed. How long has it been since I've updated this? Probably way too long. Anyway, I humbly apologize to anyone who was waiting on this posting, both for the lateness and for the overall crappiness factor. After looking it over, I realized that it turned into a rather pointless filler chapter … so, I'm sorry for that too. It was bound to happen I guess. I'd like to extend infinite thanks to those people who have reviewed/encouraged me to keep going in this – thank you so much everyone!

-           -           -

            Locke was having a good dream, something involving a cave exploration full of rare treasures and challenging battles. It was such a good dream, in fact, that he was reluctant to wake up even though he thought for some reason that he should no longer be sleeping.

            "Wake up! Come on, you two! Wake up, we haven't got all day!"        

            Locke winced at the volume of the entirely-too-cheerful voice. He was ready to turn over, bury his face in his pillow and return to his imagined treasure hunting when the voice's words finally clicked in his brain. His eyes snapped open as he sat up rather frantically, struggling for a moment with the blankets that weren't there. Strangely enough, he seemed to have fallen asleep on top of the covers. 

            "Good morning," the voice said, drawing his attention. His head jolted up and he blinked a few times, registering the sight of Terra kneeling on the foot of the bed. She smiled at him and waggled a few fingers in his direction, seeming entirely too pleased with herself. Probably a morning person, Locke thought sourly as he scrubbed a hand over his cheek wearily. 

            "It would only be good if I could sleep more," he muttered.

            "Oh, come on, I've been up for an hour at _least_. Besides, we all have to get going," Terra reasoned, bouncing a few times impatiently.

            "What do you mean, 'we all'?" Locke frowned. Terra simply motioned to the other portion of the bed, and Locke turned his face expectantly. His eyes widened as he saw Celes lying there, beginning to stir at the sound of their voices, and he scrambled backward as far as the bed would allow.

            "Gah! What are _you doing in here?!" he demanded. Celes blinked sleepily, pushing a handful of slightly tangled blonde hair out of her face. _

            "Do you have to be so loud?!" she snapped back. "I must have fallen asleep in here last night."

            "What do you mean, you fell asleep in here?! I bought that other room so you wouldn't _have to sleep in here! And I think I would have noticed if you had still been here when I fell asleep, you know!"_

            "Well apparently you didn't," Celes said casually, sitting up and running a hand through her hair. Terra gave a slight laugh.

            "You two are so funny," she said. "I was kind of confused when I woke up by myself in that room, but I figured it out soon enough. What did you guys do last night anyway?"

            "Nothing!" Locke yelped immediately. Celes glared at him half-heartedly before turning back to Terra and shrugging vaguely. 

            "We had some things to discuss. I guess we got tired," she said solidly. Terra nodded agreeably. 

            "Well I hope it's all sorted out now," she said, giving Locke an odd look. "Are you okay, Locke? You look a little flushed."

            "I'm fine," Locke replied. "It's just … a little warm in here, I guess."

            "You think so?" Terra asked, then shrugged. "Well, you two get ready and come downstairs, okay? We've all got a long way to go today. I'll be in the stables!" With that she got off the bed and disappeared out the door, her ponytail flicking after her. Locke buried his face in his hands, groaning.

            "This is not happening, this is not happening …"

            Celes calmly picked up her pillow and thwacked Locke over his head.

            "Get over it," she said, standing and stretching a little before heading toward the door. "I'll see you downstairs." She left the room as well, leaving Locke to his own swirling thoughts.

            A short time later Locke found his way into the stables, his pack slung carelessly over his left shoulder. Sure enough Terra was there, balanced precariously on a wooden crate as she leaned over the side of a stall, petting the head of a very content looking chocobo. 

            "Aw, aren't you just the cutest thing ever?" she cooed quietly to the animal, who replied with a garbled 'wark' of what might have been agreement. Locke smiled a little, watching Terra sneak the overgrown bird a handful of greens over the wooden barrier. Then he realized that the chocobo she was spoiling happened to be the very one he needed to ride back to Figaro, and cleared his throat softly.

            "If you feed her too much, I won't be able to ride her properly," he said casually, giving a small salute and an apologetic expression as Terra faltered in surprise. The chocobo gave an annoyed squawk at the interrupted attention, butting its golden head into Terra's slack hand to encourage her to continue petting. 

            "Locke, don't do that!" Terra scolded half-heartedly before turning back to the bird.

            "Sorry," Locke said, his tone suggesting that he didn't really mean it, as he began walking toward the stall. "But if I want to make it back in good time, I need a mount that's in good shape."

            "Don't be ridiculous," Terra scoffed lightly. "A few greens won't hurt her. She's not used to staying in places like this. She doesn't like it."

            "Um," Locke wasn't quite sure what to say to that. Instead he turned his head to look around the otherwise deserted stable curiously. "Do you and Celes have chocobos here as well?"

            "Uh huh," Terra nodded, giving the bird one last pat before turning and leaping easily from her perch. She wiped her hands on her skirt idly. "They're harnessed outside. I'd have prepared yours as well, but I didn't know which equipment was yours."

            "Thanks, but that's not necessary," Locke smiled warmly. "I can harness a chocobo myself, I should hope. Are … are you and Celes getting ready to leave?"

            "I think so," Terra nodded. "We have to ride back to port before our ship leaves for South Figaro. It would throw us way off schedule otherwise!"

            "Yeah, wouldn't want to do that," Locke nodded, letting his pack slide to the floor of the stable as he went to collect his chocobo's reins. Terra kicked at some loose hay that littered the area around her feet, fidgeting silently for a moment.

            "Locke?" she asked suddenly.

            "Yeah?" Locke replied distractedly from inside the stall, struggling with the chocobo that obviously liked Terra a lot better than him.

            "Are you and Celes … all right now?" she asked. It was a perfectly innocent question, especially coming from someone like Terra, but it made Locke a bit uncomfortable anyway.

            "I guess," he finally answered. "I mean … I'm not sure what you're getting at." His fingers had grown a bit clumsy as he attempted to tighten the reins around his mount's beak. It kept sliding in the wrong direction. 

            "I mean, are you two going to get along now?" Terra asked, her honest emerald eyes watching Locke patiently. "She's told me … well, that you have been avoiding her a lot. You're going to stop that, aren't you?"

            "I … I'm going to try," Locke replied, glaring impatiently at the errant bridle strap. "But … it's not the easiest situation, Terra."

            "How do you mean?" Terra asked genuinely. "It's obvious you both care a lot about each other. I don't see how you can't be good friends."

            "It's … it's more complicated than that, Terra," Locke sighed, finally clasping the harness the way he wanted. "You see, what with Celes being Edgar's … the _king's_ bride and all, I really don't have the right to feel that way about her. Or for her feel that way toward me, for that matter."

            "I don't understand," Terra said, her forehead creased in thought. "Why would Celes being married to King Figaro make her unable to be your friend?"

            "It wouldn't, Celes, but … that's not the whole issue," Locke struggled to explain, wondering why it was so hard for Terra to understand. "I … well, I'm in _love with Celes, Terra." _

            "Yeah? So?"

            "_So … don't you get it? I can't feel that way about her if she's gonna be Edgar's wife!"             Terra tapped her lips with an index finger, contemplating._

            "So, Edgar would object to you loving her, is that what you mean?"

            "Uh, yeah, Terra, that's pretty much it," Locke rolled his eyes.

            "That makes no sense," Terra protested. "I don't see what right Edgar has to tell you not to be her friend!" Locke paused, frowning. Was Terra really that dense?

            "It's not being her friend that would be the problem," he said. "Look, don't you get it? I don't love Celes just as a friend, I love her as in I _love_ her."

            "Is there a difference?" Terra replied softly, her eyes legitimately confused. Locke sighed as he led his chocobo out of the stall and bent to retrieve his bag. 

            "I can't have this conversation right now," he said. "I have to get going. See you at Figaro, I guess." With that he tugged at the reins, urging his ride forward as he headed toward the wide entryway. Terra stared after him, her expression oddly downcast.

            "It's not my fault that this is so confusing," she whispered to nobody in particular. Locke didn't hear her, but she hadn't intended him to.

            Celes had just exited the inn when Locke made it outside, and they both looked at each other rather uncomfortably. Locke settled for an awkward, one-handed wave, and Celes nodded back, her eyes adorably narrow in the bright sunlight. She walked casually toward the stables, and he walked casually away from them.

            "See you at Figaro, I guess?" Locke said, the words a lot less graceful now than when he had spoken them to Terra. Celes gave a slight smile and shrugged one slim shoulder.

            "You'd better," she replied, her sleeve brushing his as she passed him. He fought the urge to look back; instead, he took a few more steps before halting and pulling himself up on his chocobo. He gave Jidoor one last weary look around, before digging his heels into the bird's sides and leaving the town in the wake of their dust.

*          *          *

            "Don't look now," Cyan muttered, browsing through one of the weapons racks on the training yard to make sure that none were missing. Sabin, true to his nature, did exactly what he was told _not to do. His head jerked up from the inventory list he had been frowning at, and he looked around curiously._

            "What? What?" 

            "He's back," Cyan explained tersely, inclining his head toward the gate that Locke had just sauntered through. Sabin saw him, and his face broke into a wide grin. Tossing the parchment in his hand to the bench he had been sitting on, he launched himself to his feet and starting waving his arms around.

            "Hey Locke! Lo-ocke! Over here!" he shouted, far more loudly than he needed to. Locke turned his head toward the commotion, and he waved tiredly at the overactive blond.

            "Calm down, Sabin," he replied, quickening his pace slightly to reach them more quickly. "What are you guys doing out here, anyway?"

            "Ah, boring military stuff," Sabin waved his hand vaguely, then jerked a thumb at Cyan. "Mr. Holier-than-thou over here _insisted_."

            "It's not _my fault that supplies and weapons have been going missing," Cyan snapped, finally turning toward the other two with a stern expression on his face that lightened only slightly as he looked at Locke. "Locke."_

            "Cyan," Locke returned the nod of greeting that Cyan gave him. "So, big problem?"

            "No," Sabin said.

            "Yes," Cyan said at the same time. They both looked at each other sharply.

            "It's no big deal, Cyan," Sabin insisted. "Some of the rookies just misplaced some stuff, that's all. I don't see why we, two of the most important people in the system, have to resort to doing an _inventory check!"_

            "Well, if the soldiers are the ones 'misplacing things'," Cyan said, making quote motions with his fingers, "then we should not depend on them to do the check."

            "But Cyan, I hate this stuff!" Sabin retorted, looking for all the world like he was pouting. Even though Sabin technically outranked Cyan, the blond couldn't stop looking at the older man as an authority figure. Cyan had been around ever since Sabin had been a hyperactive toddler running around the training fields of his father's regime. Locke smirked at the pair.

            "Would you rather be inside, helping with the wedding preparations?" Cyan countered with the tiniest of arrogant smiles. Sabin's nose wrinkled.

            "Er, point," he sighed. "_Nothing's_ worse than having to deal with … _that_." He shook his head at the thought, and flopped back down on his bench. Stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankle, he leaned back on the heels of his hands and grinned up at Locke.

            "So, how was the mission, little brother?" 

            "It was fine," Locke shrugged. "Sounds like I had more excitement than you two, anyway."

            "Understatement of the year," Sabin rolled his eyes. "But seriously, everything go okay? Find out anything?" The question was left hanging, but Locke knew what Sabin meant. Anything, as in anything suspicious or dangerous. He sighed.

            "Yes and no," he replied evasively. "Anyway, I should probably tell Edgar first. Dare I look for him now?"

            "I don't see why not," Sabin shrugged. "Nobody'll probably try to order you to do anything if you've got to talk to Edgar. I know he'll wanna hear from you, anyway."

            "Okay, I'd better find him then," Locke said, turning to go with a small wave. 

            "Hey Locke!" Sabin called after him as he walked away toward the castle. Locke paused, looking over his shoulder curiously. Sabin grinned at him. "Afterwards, come back and help me an' Cyan with the inventory, would you?" 

            Locke smiled, gave Sabin a rude gesture, and continued toward the inner castle gates.

            It only took a few minutes to explain everything he had discovered to Edgar, but all the same Locke felt drained at the end of his story. As for Edgar, he sat in stony silence in his chair opposite of Locke, his fingers steepled in front of his lips as he thought. For a moment no one spoke.

            "What are your impressions of all this?" Edgar finally asked. Locke blinked, not expecting such a question.

            "Me?" he said a little uneasily, despite the fact that he was the only other person in the den where they sat. "Uh, well, I guess I'd say it's worth some concern … but doesn't warrant any immediate or excessive action. I mean, the Emperor himself is obviously holding up his end of the deal, if he's lowering himself to practically begging the son that he hates to come home. I'd say it's safe to assume that he's issued recalls to all of his other troops as well."

            "But …?" Edgar prompted, sensing something more from his younger friend. Locke sighed, fidgeting his feet around.

            "But … that's not to say there isn't any danger. From Kefka, I mean. Even though the Emperor is following the treaty, if Kefka doesn't then there could be trouble. He had a lot of troops, Edgar."

            "Hm," Edgar nodded, his face steeled in seriousness. "Kefka has proven to be …unstable in the past, as an opponent. I wouldn't be surprised if he is planning some sort of coup, right under his father's nose. I'll have my sources check up on some of the other territories, and in the meantime I'll keep our forces where they are on the western borders. Gestahl certainly can't expect me to withdraw when he himself is still in our territory. I'm sure we'll be able to sort it out diplomatically, so long as Kefka is not in the picture."

            "He's … he's gonna succeed Gestahl someday, isn't he Edgar?" Locke asked. Edgar's face darkened for a moment.

            "Most likely. He is the only biological child of the Emperor," he sighed. "However, Gestahl trusts him little more than I do. Perhaps he will arrange for a different heir, when the time comes. For now … for now we must focus on the present."

            "Right. Of course," Locke replied, embarrassed for having brought it up at all. "So, is there any more that you need me to do?" Edgar smiled then, though the expression was strained.

            "No, Locke, you've done more than enough. Thank you, both for going and for bringing up the idea in the first place. You may have saved us a lot of trouble."

            "Glad to do it, Edgar," Locke replied, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Edgar slumped forward a little, running a hand over his hair.

            "I'd like to settle this before the wedding, if at all possible. Perhaps when Celes gets back, I can discuss it with her …" he seemed to be almost talking to himself. Abruptly he stopped, looking at Locke sheepishly. "Why don't you go and get some rest? Don't let anyone con you into any work."

            "Thanks, Sabin warned me already," Locke smiled. "Maybe you should rest some too, Edgar? Don't want to burn yourself out before the big day." He had to force the last words out despite himself. He truly wanted Edgar to be well, but he still felt wretched at the thought of Celes' marriage. He hated himself for feeling that way, but that's the way it was. Edgar gave him a tired smile.

            "Maybe in a while, after I deal with this a little," he said. "Thanks, Locke. Really."

            "Anytime," Locke replied softly, and then he stood to leave Edgar to some very difficult thoughts.  

            Celes and Terra arrived back at Figaro without incident, the altered dress in tow. Locke had not seen them return, but had heard about it through the chatter of a few chambermaids clustered in the junction of his hall and the stairs. A slight clearing of the throat was all it took to send them scrambling, which Locke did after hearing what he needed to hear. Taking the steps slowly, he made his way toward the main halls.

            He wasn't surprised to see her, being led in by Sabin with Terra at her heels. Sabin was in the middle of an animated story from the looks of it, pantomiming with first his arms and then his whole body. Celes and Terra laughed as Locke watched, continuing to walk toward them. None of the three noticed him until he was practically in front of them, due to Sabin's tale.

            "Hey Locke!" Sabin greeted him, bringing his arms to his sides as though he had never been moving around in a ridiculous manner.

            "Hi Sabin," Locke replied, turning his eyes to the blonde next to him. "Celes."

            "Locke," Celes replied with an upward quirk of the lips. Sabin seemed dumbfounded for a moment, never expecting anything to be exchanged between the two of them. Locke just shrugged and kept walking, and Celes urged Sabin to continue as well. Terra smiled broadly at Locke, slowing her step and finally scampering away from the two blonds who were back in conversation once again.

            "Hey!" she said brightly as she fell into step beside Locke. 

            "Hey yourself," Locke replied with a smile, giving her a sideways glance. "Everything go okay?" Terra nodded, her earrings swishing around her neck. 

            "Perfectly. No one suspected a thing," she grinned mischievously. Suddenly she had grabbed Locke's arm, pulling him down the corridor. "I need your opinion. Come on!"

            "Hey!" Locke protested feebly. "Hey, what gives? My opinion about what?"

            "The dress, Locke!" Terra said, as if it was totally obvious. "I need a man's opinion."

            "What for? And why me?!" Locke demanded, his voice growing louder in dismay.

            "_Because," Terra replied. "I don't know any guys around here except for you, Sabin, and Edgar. Sabin wouldn't be able to keep the secret, and it's bad luck for the groom to see the dress before the wedding!"_

            "Uh, I think that's the bride. He's not supposed to see the bride before the wedding," Locke corrected.

            "Yeah, the bride, in her _dress_!" Terra rolled her eyes. "Don't argue, it'll only take a minute!"

            "Geez, okay, okay," Locke wrenched his arm from her grip. "No need to pull me around like some kind of lapdog." Terra just smiled, turning the corner and approaching one of the doors. She opened it and ushered Locke inside before closing it behind them.

            "So?" Locke asked, standing in the entryway as he looked around. It was one of the bigger guest suites that the castle had; he wondered if this was where Celes had been staying?  
            "Go in already," Terra said, pushing him lightly. "It's lying on the bed. Here, I'll get it!" She went around him, beckoning him to follow before hurrying to the large bed and carefully scooping up the delicate material of Celes' dress. She held it up to herself, smoothing one hand over the front as the other held it up.

            "So, what do you think of it?"

            Locke blinked at the dress, unsure what Terra expected him to say. It was by far the most extravagant thing he had ever seen. The gown was a tasteful mixture of white and silvery tones, the flowing skirt sashed with a shimmering transparent silk that reminded Locke of crushed diamonds. It flowed down in seemingly endless ripples, obviously designed to trail gracefully behind the wearer. 

            "Locke!" Terra laughed, swishing the gown around a little. "What do you _think of it?"_

            "It's … it's really nice," Locke said lamely.

            "Really nice?" Terra raised a skeptical eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

            "Just what it sounds like," Locke grumbled. "What do you want me to say, Terra? I don't know anything about dresses."

            "Well, do you think it'll look good on Celes?" Terra asked. Locke did his best not to choke in reaction to those words. Terra didn't seem to notice his unease; she smiled at him expectantly. What did she want from him?!

            Figuring a '_hell yes_' would probably not be the way to go, Locke stuck with a simple, "It will look wonderful." Terra beamed.

            "I just knew it!" she replied, turning to lay the expensive garment back on the bed carefully. "I helped design it, you know. Celes said she didn't want to. So do you think Edgar will like it?"

            "Absolutely," Locke nodded. Terra grinned.      

            "Thanks Locke," she said. "I feel less nervous about the whole thing now. I don't want to give a bad impression if I'm going to be living here from now on."

            "Don't worry about that," Locke said. "I'm sure Edgar and Sabin and everybody already think very highly of you."

            "I hope so," Terra replied, then her eyes suddenly widened. "Oh, Celes is going to wonder where I am. Come on, Locke, let's go find her."

            "Terra, I really don't think …" Locke began, but she had already taken his hand to pull him along with her as she left the room.

            "Celes!" Terra called to get the blonde's attention, Locke still in tow. Celes and Sabin were standing outside of the throne room, talking to Edgar as the king leaned wearily against the doorway. Celes turned toward the shout, and smiled a little as she saw Terra dragging Locke behind her. 

            "There you are," she said, looking at Locke with an amused expression for a minute. "Ah, I see you've met Locke." 

            "Oh, uh, yes I have," Terra nodded, remembering that she was not supposed to have met the young man yet. "I sort of ran into him, and well … never mind. But I managed to get an opinion out of him, so it all worked out."

            "Oh? And what does he think?"

            "Absolute approval, just as I thought," Terra smiled. "Right Locke?" She elbowed him lightly in the ribs.

            "Um, yeah. Really nice," Locke nodded, resisting the urge to reach up and tug at his bandana. Edgar and Sabin exchanged a look; they had no idea what was going on.

            "What's really nice?" Sabin asked, ever the straightforward one. Locke opened his mouth to explain, only to have Terra's hand reach up and silence him.

            "Er, nothing!" she said. Locke rolled his eyes, pushing her hand away. "Well, Locke and I are going to get something to eat. Are you coming, Celes?"

            "I suppose," Celes shrugged, turning to Sabin and Edgar. "Would you two like to join us?" 

            "No thank you. We still have a few things to discuss," Edgar replied, watching the trio with a strange curiosity. Sabin nodded agreement, sharing a knowing glance with Edgar.

            "All right. I'll be by to talk to you later then," Celes said to Edgar, and after smiling at Sabin she turned to start down the hall with Terra, who still had a firm hold on Locke's wrist in case he was contemplating escape. Sabin and Edgar watched them go, and once they were out of sight Sabin chuckled slightly.

            "What's with those three?" 

            "I honestly have no idea," Edgar shook his head. 

            "Locke seems better though, don't you think?" Sabin suggested. "He's not avoiding Celes so much, anyway. And he actually spoke to her earlier. Did that little mission you sent him on straighten him out?"

            "I don't know," Edgar sighed. "I need to talk to you about that, actually. But I am glad to see that Locke isn't quite as on edge as before. I'd like for them to get along."

            "You and me both," Sabin nodded, glancing down the corridor one last time. He hoped that things would be back to normal soon. Sighing, he turned and followed his brother into the throne room.

_Continued_


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Wow, it's really been more than a year since I've updated this, and it's probably half a miracle that I'm posting this at all. I won't go into all the details, because I'm sure no one is that interested, but I'll give you the short version. This story was almost done in its rough form when I posted the previous chapter - then my computer decided to commit (not so)honorable suicide, taking all of my writing with it. The story was not backed up, and was gone forever. My soul left my body, and my motivation vanished. It took a lot to get me to start writing it again, because nothing I write is ever as good the second time around no matter how I try to replicate it. Then the computer required reformatting again, and stupid me-who-had-not-learned-her-lesson had yet again not backed up any files. So, writing for the third time now, I've finally dredged up the effort to complete a whole chronologically-sound chapter. And I hate it, but it's getting posted anyway. I don't know how often I'll be working on this, but remembering the fondness with which I worked on this story in its beginning stages makes me want to finish it eventually. Big thank yous to anyone who is reading and has the patience to put up with me. You rock._

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"Locke, is this right? Locke? You aren't even watching!"

It was Terra's voice that called to him, pulling him from a self-induced reverie. Blinking a couple of times, his vision returned to the scene at hand on the roof of the north tower. Terra was watching him expectantly, the slim knife still poised in her hand. He gave her an apologetic smile, straightening from the wall where he had been leaning.

"Sorry, Terra, the wind must have thrown a little sand in my eyes," he made an excuse, realizing belatedly that it was among the lamest he could have chosen. Terra seemed not to notice; she just nodded and repeated the movement of her arm, focusing totally on the blade she clutched.

"No," Locke said as soon as she had finished, walking toward her and reaching out, adjusting the position of her wrist. "If you do it like that, you're liable to break your wrist when using a lot of force. Holding it like so will prevent that."

"Oh," Terra nodded, smiling gratefully. "Let me try once more, okay?"

"Mm-hmm," Locke nodded, stepping back again and watching as she executed the move. "Much better. Once you get the hang of that, I can show you a few defense techniques." Terra grinned at him, lifting one hand to wipe the tendrils of stubborn hair that were clinging to her forehead out of her eyes.

"Thanks, Locke," she said, her gaze moving to focus on the third member of their group. "Celes? Are you sure you don't want to learn some of this with me?" Locke turned his face, looking over at blonde figure that sat on the wide stone ledge of the rampart, leaning against the junction of the makeshift bench and the wall behind it. Her knees were pulled up against her chest, her arms wrapped around her shins as she rested her chin on her knees. She gave a small dismissive wave of one hand, watching Terra through partially-lidded eyes.

"I'll stick to my swordplay, Terra."

"Suit yourself," the petite woman shrugged at her friend before returning to practicing the moves she had cajoled Locke into teaching her. Locke sighed quietly, squinting as he approached the edge of the tower to survey the shimmering sands beyond.

It was hotter than Locke found comfortable, but hiding out on the isolated tower definitely beat the chaos that was Figaro castle below them. It hadn't taken him long to discover that preparing a wedding ranked up at the top of his least-favorite-things-to-do list, right along with doubleshift duty in Figaro's chocobo stables or facing off against the entire imperial army blinded and missing one arm. At least with the imperial army he'd get a quick death; the wedding was on its third week of planning and counting.

He found himself sinking down next to Celes, smiling hesitantly as he leaned forward on his knees and tried to catch her eyes.

"Tired?"

"Try exhausted. Exhausted and annoyed out of my mind," Celes grumbled, her eyes remaining stubbornly closed. Locke snickered sympathetically.

"I can't say that I know how you feel…"

"Then don't."

"I wasn't going to."

"Good."

Locke smiled at the exchange, leaning back slightly and propping himself up with his palms. It hadn't been easy, but Locke had finally found a sort of medium when dealing with Celes. Having Terra around made things less awkward, and frankly he enjoyed Celes' company too much to give much of a fight. As long as he was able to keep thoughts of the wedding out of his mind, it was easy enough to ignore the future and enjoy the present.

"You know, it wouldn't hurt for you to train a little with Terra," Locke spoke again. "You never know when you might find yourself in a tight spot with no sword in sight."

"Locke."

"Yes?"

"No. Give it up."

"Fine, fine, I give," Locke sighed, scuffing his heel against the worn stone floor and looking back in Terra's direction. Persuading Celes into anything, it seemed, was like pulling teeth.

When Celes' head fell against his shoulder Locke started, but to his credit he did not jump or pull away. He looked down at the blonde hair falling across his arm and gave into a surprised but pleased smile. He wasn't sure how awake Celes was, but he didn't want to disturb her if she found a way to sleep out in the sun and blistering heat.

He looked up when something moved in his peripheral vision, and he found himself staring up at a grinning Terra. She gestured to Celes, obviously amused.

"How do I get her off of me?" Locke wanted to know, embarrassed by Terra's expression. Terra shook her head, her smile never wavering.

"You don't," she said, her tone pleased as she sheathed the knife she had been using and set it on the ledge next to Locke. She sank down to the floor, sitting comfortably to rest in the midmorning heat. "Looks like you're stuck for now, Locke."

"If she's so tired, she should just go back to bed," Locke muttered, feeling a little self-conscious now that Terra was watching them.

"That wouldn't work," she informed Locke. "She'd have to get past all the maids and stuff first, and you know every time she gets within five feet of any of them they feel the need to mob her with questions."

"She should lock her bedroom door then," Locke suggested.

"Wouldn't work. They've got keys," Terra pointed out, smiling when Celes let out a disgruntled snort.

"Don't you think I would have tried that by now, Locke?" she demanded, her voice still the only indication she was awake at all. "I can't even get a decent night's sleep, you know, because people constantly seem to have the need to ask me any sort of ridiculous question they can come up with. As if I really care one way or another about hairstyles, and napkins, and … and banister sashes!"

"Banister sashes?" Locke repeated with a snort of amusement that he tried to cover up with a cough. Celes was suddenly upright, her face alight with the fire of an impending tirade as she looked at him.

"That's what _I_ said! This morning, at the crack of dawn, what do you think they wanted to ask me? 'Why, what color of fabric would you like for the banister sashes, Miss Celes? The periwinkle or the cornflower blue?' I mean, come on, banister sashes?! And aren't those two colors practically the same anyway? And they all just stood there, staring like _I_ was the crazy one when I didn't answer right away …!" Locke couldn't contain his amusement any longer; he was practically doubled over with mirth, laughing uncontrollably as he hunched over his knees. He barely had the breath to yelp as Celes promptly swatted at his arm, glaring at him with an expression that clearly conveyed he'd better shut up if he knew what was good for him.

"S-sorry," he gasped out, trying to suppress his laughter. "But it's just … banister sashes? Edgar actually wants to have … banister sashes? That's …" he collapsed into giggles again, rubbing the heel of one hand against his eyes in attempt to clear his vision. Terra was chuckling along with him, more amused by his behavior then the actual topic of conversation, and Celes' indignant expression slowly caved to a hesitant but amused smile.

"Locke, it's not funny. Honestly. I have to put up with that sort of thing all the time."

"But … can you imagine Edgar? Telling some planner or another that … that the banisters need draping?" Locke said, snickering between words. Celes' suppressed smile finally gave way to a full-blown grin, and she sighed in defeat of the argument.

"Yes, Locke, I know it's ridiculous. But I doubt it was Edgar's idea in the first place. Some of the planners have been getting … a bit overzealous," she explained.

"Doesn't really matter. It's still funny," Locke insisted. "Oh, Sabin is going to die when I tell him this …" He trailed off into laughter once more, only to be interrupted by a voice from the stairwell door.

"When you tell Sabin what?"

The three of them turned to find Setzer leaning casually against the frame, a slightly bemused expression on his pale face. Locke sobered at the sight of him, though he couldn't rid himself of his amused grin.

"Setzer! Did you know they're getting banister sashes?" Locke asked him, amusement coloring his voice as Setzer stared at him blankly. The pilot slowly straightened, walking toward the trio with languid steps.

"Locke. What _are_ you going on about?"

"Just ignore him, Setzer," Celes sighed, a bit impatient with Locke's strange fixation on the subject. Setzer seemed to accept that, nodding as he looked over the three of them.

"What are you doing up here anyway? Hiding?"

"Basically," Locke nodded.

"And why, might I ask?" Setzer asked. Locke rolled his eyes.

"Have you even been down there? It's insane! If you don't make yourself scarce, you just get sucked in."

"Well, it's a good thing I've been busy with repairs for the Blackjack then, hmm?" Setzer smiled thinly. "Anyway. Ladies, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to borrow Locke for a while."

"Oh?" Terra asked, interested. Locke's amusement drained from him nearly immediately; the moment of sheer forgetfulness was gone, slamming reality back around him harshly. He didn't like that look on Setzer's face.

"Yes. You seem to have forgotten your fitting, Locke. You were to be there twenty minutes ago."

"Fitting?" Locke repeated hesitantly.

"Yes. For your suit?" Setzer said, rolling his eyes. "Honestly. Do you ever remember anything?"

"I don't want to go to a stupid fitting!" Locke protested. He squawked in surprise when Celes suddenly grabbed his wrist, the sound twisting into a cry of protest as Celes thrust his arm out toward the pilot.

"Here. Take him."

"Celes! You traitor!" Locke cried, frowning as he was passed off to Setzer and yanked to his feet.

"We could use the peace and quiet," Celes said, shrugging as though it made perfect sense. Locke glowered, and Terra laughed a little.

"It'll be fine, Locke! Don't you want a suit that fits you well?" she pointed out. Locke made a face at her, and Setzer jostled his elbow gently.

"She's right, Locke. Don't be such a child. Let's go," he urged, giving Locke a little shove toward the stairs before nodding at Celes and Terra. "Ladies." They watched the two go, Locke protesting loudly as Setzer had to repeatedly shove him along until they disappeared down the stairwell. The two looked at each other, dissolving into laughter only when the two men were out of sight.

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"I hate it," Locke said, trying to keep any petulance from his voice as he scowled at his reflection in the tall mirror. In actuality the suit was very nice; the material was dark and expensive, and even without tailoring it made him look very dashing. For any other occasion, Locke would likely have been thrilled to have it.

For this occasion, however, Locke was determined to protest everything.

"It suits you, Locke," Setzer said, glancing over at him from where he stood pulling at the cuffs of his own suit. "You look surprisingly respectable."

"I don't care, I still hate it," Locke insisted, tearing the jacket off and tossing it on a nearby chair. His fingers struggled with the complex array of buttons keeping him inside the pressed linen shirt and cummerbund. Setzer had assumed that 'it' referred to the garment he was currently strewing about the room, but Locke meant it in a broader sense. He hated the whole ordeal, the very idea of what they were planning to dress up for. The sour look on his face was enough to make Setzer snicker.

"It won't kill you to dress up for once in your life, Cole," he reprimanded lightly. Locke glowered at him.

"How would you know?" he shot back, and Setzer shook his head.

"You're hopeless. You know that, right?"

"Is something wrong?" Sabin's voice cut into their conversation from behind the partition separating them from the next room where the tailors had been working on him; a moment later the blond prince appeared, dressed in a regal looking outfit that was placed crookedly on his frame. Sabin wasn't much accustomed to dressing up either, it seemed, despite his heritage.

"Locke refuses to look decent," Setzer informed Sabin, gesturing one graceful hand toward Locke's shirtless figure.

"I don't like the suit!" Locke announced loudly, going a bit red-faced from all the attention. Sabin laughed outright, crossing the room to slap Locke encouragingly on the back. The blow temporarily winded Locke, though Sabin didn't seem to notice.

"I don't much care for mine either, little brother!" Sabin said cheerfully. "Feels like I can hardly move in this thing. But we must endure for the good of the cause, right?"

"Whatever," Locke said sullenly, stomping over to the nearest chair and throwing himself into it carelessly. Setzer shook his head as he surveyed Sabin.

"Don't you even know how to dress yourself?" he asked, moving to yank Sabin's collar into its proper place. Sabin gave a whine of protest, pulling away once Setzer had adjusted the garment.

"Lay off, Setzer! _Some_ of us don't like getting frilled up on a daily basis, right Locke?" He looked in Locke's direction, his eyes pleading for backup, and Locke sighed.

"Well, Setzer does seem to be enjoying this a bit too much," he admitted, and Sabin grinned triumphantly.

"See?"

"See what?" Setzer frowned. "I happen to have the good sense to appreciate a little bit of class when I can. These outfits are expensive. Edgar really went for the best for everything."

"Why shouldn't he? He likes this formal junk as much as you, Setzer," Sabin said, turning to see himself in the mirror. "This looks good enough, right?"

"Sure," Setzer said coolly. "Providing you have someone to help you straighten it on the wedding day." Sabin mock-scowled at the pilot, but then he grinned and nodded, recognizing the words for the teasing that they were.

"Then I'm just going to go with this one. I'm tired of trying on clothes," he said, then looked to his younger friend. "Locke? Didn't your suit work for you?"

"He hates it," Setzer interjected. "If you didn't hear him the first hundred times."

"Well I do!" Locke huffed, crossing his arms over his bare chest defensively. Sabin looked to Setzer.

"But it looked all right on him?" he asked.

"It was fine. Hardly even needs tailoring," Setzer nodded.

"Good! We're all set, then!" Sabin grinned, shrugging out of his own jacket and walking back across the room to hang it properly. Locke resisted the growling sound building in his throat.

"I still hate it," he muttered under his breath. The other two didn't hear him, but it made him feel a little better all the same. He quickly pulled on his own clothes, ignoring the light conversation of the others as he finished dressing and headed for the door.

He left the room feeling angry and restless. Shoving his hands as deeply into his pockets as he could, he stomped down the corridor with his head tilted toward the floor as he walked outside into the glaring midday heat. As much as he wanted to get away from all of this wedding stuff, he knew he couldn't. He'd be letting down his family if he refused to participate, and the thought of that made him feel even worse than he already did. So he would wear the suit, go through the motions, and try to ignore the sickening feeling building in the pit of his stomach.

As much as this was turning out to look like the wedding of the century, Locke couldn't help but feel like he was preparing for a funeral.

The sun beat down, as hot as ever, offering Locke no solace.

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Days melded together, blurring in Locke's memory as everything else whirled around him in a flurry of bustle and action. Fleeting hours spent with Celes and Terra were often the only spots of normalcy he felt anymore. Edgar and Sabin were always busy with something, and he didn't feel much like talking to them anyway.

He was on constant edge, sometimes feeling like a stranger in his own life. He didn't eat often, slept too much, and had all but ceased leaving Figaro's gates. Edgar had often reprimanded him for being flighty in the past, but now he didn't feel like giving the effort to go anywhere. Wandering didn't hold the same appeal it once did.

Now he sat, curled in his open window, staring out at the bright field of stars in the sky above Figaro. He felt oddly calm and detached, despite knowing what day it was.

The wedding was tomorrow.

It had crept up on him despite his knowing that it was an affair that had been as rushed as possible. Dignitaries and Empire officials would be arriving throughout the night, to witness the wedding without the displeasure of having to be a guest in enemy territory for too long. Locke didn't know who was coming. He didn't much care, if he really thought about it.

He hadn't ever felt this alone and unsure, even as a child orphaned at too young an age. He sighed, leaning his forehead against his knees and taking in a long breath.

Tomorrow was going to hurt. Badly. And he was ashamed to admit it to himself.

A knock startled him from his brooding, echoing loudly in his otherwise silent chamber. Locke sent the door a baleful look, wishing for a moment that whoever it was would just go away. He didn't want to talk to anyone right now.

The knock came again, louder and more persistent. Locke gave a growling sigh, relenting without much fight.

"Come in," he called, turning his face back to the view the window provided. He heard the door open quietly, the faint grinding of the hinges the only hint that it had been moved. He listened to it close again; the visitor had yet to announce their presence.

"Locke," a soft voice finally said, and Locke looked up, startled. Of all the people it could have been, Celes stood a few paces in from his door, arms crossed nervously as she watched him calmly.

"Hi," he said softly, unwilling to move from his position in the window seat, unsure of what to say. She smiled a little in what might have been relief, her face losing its initial edginess.

"Hi," she replied.

"Something wrong?" Locke asked, wondering what could have brought her here at a time like this. He'd already wished her luck for tomorrow, fighting back his emotions as best he could as she had smiled sadly at him and gave his hand a squeeze in reply. That had been hard enough. What could she want now?  
"No," she replied quietly. "Nothing wrong. Can I come in?"

"You already did," Locke pointed out, but he motioned for her to come closer anyway. The other half of the window seat was empty; he gestured at it in offering. Smiling her thanks, she quietly climbed up across from Locke to take a seat on the sill. She clasped her hands across one knee, looking unsure and a little bit uncomfortable. She looked out at the sky for a while, chewing on her bottom lip absently. Locke watched her, then gave up with a sigh and turned his attention back to the stars.

"Nice night," he commented, feeling the need to say something but unable to come up with anything less lame. Without the constant presence of Terra as a sort of buffer between them, Locke felt awkwardness come creeping back. He didn't know what to do.

"Yeah," Celes agreed softly, her gaze faraway and surprisingly sad. Locke was reminded with startling clarity of the expression he had seen on her face the first day they had met, as she had watched her home grow distant and disappear on the horizon from the Blackjack's deck. Coming to Figaro had been hard for her, but the hardest part hadn't really happened yet. Tomorrow wasn't going to be hard for only him, it seemed.

"See anything good?" he asked, turning his attention back to her face. She glanced over at him, noticing his staring, and flushed a bit. Turning her face away again to hide it, she gave a small shrug.

"It doesn't look the same, somehow," she sighed, leaning forward to clutch her knees to her chest as she rested her cheek against one kneecap. "I mean, I know those are the same stars up there, but … they look different here. Than at Vector, I mean."

"Oh," Locke said plainly, unable to think of a better reply. His hand shifted restlessly on the sill next to him; he clasped his hands together to still them. They were silent for a moment, and then Celes made a noise of frustration.

"I'm sorry. I know I'm not making sense," she said, giving him a slightly contrite smile. Locke shrugged, waving it off.

"I think I get it," he assured her.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I mean … you can't go backward. Nothing's ever the same, even if you try to go back later … right?" Locke said.

"Right," Celes agreed, smiling more sincerely. Locke found himself returning the expression, despite himself.

"So … it's late, Celes. What can I do for you?" he asked, still curious about her presence. Celes sighed, her expression fading.

"I just … needed to talk to you. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just tell me what I can do?" he urged, sitting up a bit more to prove he was listening. Celes looked nervous, but determined.

"I don't want things to change, Locke. After tomorrow, I mean," she explained. "I just feel like we've reached some sort of friendship, at least, and I'd like for it to grow. I don't want to lose it, just because tomorrow is …" She trailed off, knowing she didn't have to finish. Locke nodded; he understood.

"Yeah."

"So, is that okay? I mean, can we stay like this? As friends?" Celes continued. At some point one of her hands had reached out to meet his. One of his hands had untangled itself without his knowing, twining with hers between them. He stared at their hands, and found himself nodding.

"Of course, Celes," he said, and then she was smiling again even as she let out a tiny strangled sob. Locke's eyes widened. She wasn't crying, was she …?

"Celes?" he asked, unsure. He made a small noise of surprise when she suddenly threw herself at him, her arms coming up around his shoulders as he automatically opened his arms to her. "Celes, what's wrong?" She just shook her head, her frame shaking slightly as she bit her lip to keep herself silent. Locke allowed himself to hug her, worry prevailing over anything else he might have normally been concerned about. It was a long moment before she spoke.

"I know I have to do this," she said, her voice thick with suppressed emotion. "But Locke, I don't want to! Why should I have to do this? What did I do?"

"Celes," Locke said helplessly. "You didn't do anything. Come on, don't talk like that." Her behavior was a bit frightening, actually. She had always seems so sure of herself, so resigned to the task she had been given. She understood these things better than Locke, but now … she was acting as Locke probably would have in her place. Resentful, anguished, almost afraid. He tightened his arms around her without thinking.

She didn't say anything more, just sagged against him more heavily and continued to cry, trying in vain to stifle her tears for what seemed like a long time to Locke. She finally quieted on her own but didn't make a move, seeming content to stay close to him. Locke wasn't about to protest either; he let his chin rest on top of her head, absently running his hand down her hair in a repetitive motion as he turned his eyes once again toward the night sky.

They sat together in silence on the sill, and Locke found that he actually felt almost at peace regardless of the situation. He felt himself relaxing despite himself, and his eyes grew heavier as exhaustion finally caught up with him. Celes seemed to be in a similar state, so he decided to let go. Sleep was upon him almost instantly.

He awoke to an aching, nagging pain in his neck, and very carefully straightened up as he winced and mumbled irritated words under his breath. He was still in the window sill, sagged down and twisted up all uncomfortably in the hard perch. It was colder than he remembered, and as he turned his eyes to the sky he saw the dark blue-grey of a cloudy pre-dawn. Had he really slept all night in the window? Had Celes …?

He bolted upright, his back protesting the movement as pain laced up his spine and into his shoulders. He ignored it, looking around the room. He was alone. Well, he should have expected that. Celes had no business staying around in his room; she'd likely removed herself sometime after he'd fallen asleep, had probably not wanted to disturb his sleep. He knew she had known he wasn't sleeping well, somehow. Maybe she'd been able to see it on his face; any sleep he did get was fitful and unrestful, leaving him waking even more miserable than when he went to sleep.

Standing cautiously on slightly wobbly legs, Locke rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes for a moment as he fought away the last vestiges of sleepiness from his mind. It was too close to day to think about going back to sleep, and he would not likely have been able to sleep again anyway. Lethargy was melting away into a higher alertness, and Locke was reminded what day it was. He gave a heavy sigh, casting one last listless glance out the window before turning to stagger back into his room. It was the day of the wedding; for all of his careful aversion, there was no way he could ignore it any longer.

There was no way he was ready. No way at all.

_Continued_


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** _No, I am not dead (though sometimes it feels like it) and neither is this story ... even if it does seem like I only update once every 8 million years or so. For that I do apologize. I do continue to work on this whenever I can, but it's slow going and I don't know when or if that will change. I'm rather surprised this update is happening at all, especially during this wonderful finals season. shakes head Anyway, I'm not too happy with this addition, but it seemed like a good place to leave off. Enjoy. Cheers._

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Locke was playing a game. He knew it was stupid, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Dressed in his despised wedding clothes and generally appearing to be a respectable gentleman, he knew his actions looked ridiculous. Staring determinedly down at the flagstone of the castle corridor, he focused on taking the slowest and smallest steps possible. 

The longer it took for him to arrive, the longer the wedding would not take place.

They wouldn't start without him. If he never got there, then it would never start. It was backward logic, and Locke almost wanted to laugh at himself. He took another carefully measured step, and paused as his shoulders slumped in defeat.

This was it. He was officially losing his mind. If he went crazy, they wouldn't want him to be in the wedding anymore, and then they could get on with it whether he arrived on time or not. He wouldn't be forced to witness the blasted ceremony that way, but he would still know that it was happening. And if they really were concerned about where he had gotten to, they could just send out a search party. Sabin was uncannily good at finding him even when he didn't want to be found, so he knew he was doomed even if he did try to hide.

Still, it was an idea. Locke was seriously considering it, mentally running through a list of the most obscure hiding places that the castle had to offer, when a hand settled heavily on his shoulder.

To his credit Locke did not yelp, but he jerked away roughly as he fought to spin around, his eyes wide with surprise. For a moment he didn't recognize the man before him, who was watching him with mild concern.

"Mr. Cole. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he said, and Locke's flurried mind shifted back to rightness as he suddenly remembered. Mustering up a weak smile, Locke shook his head.

"No, it's my fault, really. I was … ah, thinking," he excused himself, knowing that the terse explanation didn't even begin to cover the strange workings of his overstressed mind. "Nice to see you again, General." Leo grinned broadly, though Locke wasn't sure if it was because he had recognized him or because Locke had assured him that he was alright, and the general held out his hand.

"Please, it's Leo," he said, shaking Locke's hand firmly when it was offered out of habit. Locke blinked, returning the gesture as best he could.

"Okay. But it's Locke, not Mr. Cole," he replied. Leo gave a slight chuckle, and glanced around at the bustle of people that flowed around them.

"This is quite a production," he pointed out, and Locke nodded agreement.

"Er, yeah," he said nervously, rubbing at the back of his neck as he watched an unfamiliar group of girls scamper past giggling about something. "It's been like this for weeks. Crazy."

"How unfortunate," Leo sympathized, still smiling, then he inclined his head down the hall. "I'm glad to have run into you. I'm afraid I am unfamiliar with the layout of this place. I was waylaid by a couple of dignitaries and seem to have become disoriented. Could you point me in the right direction of the ceremony hall?"

Locke paused a moment, a bit thrown by Leo's formal way of speaking, but he nodded agreeably.

"I'm headed that way myself, actually," he admitted. "They wanted me there early. You know, for … last minute preparations, or something. I'll show you."

"Thank you," Leo said, and fell into step next to Locke as the young man begrudgingly started walking again. His game was ruined now; he didn't think any amount of persuasion and explanation would get Leo to help him delay the inevitable.

"Did they ask you to come to the hall early too?" Locke asked, wondering why Leo was already trying to get there. Was it really that late? Were the guests already taking their place? Leo's expression turned a bit sour only for a moment, then he gave a slight shrug of his shoulders.

"I had a short conversation with King Figaro and Mr. Gabbiani earlier. They thought it might be best if I was there to … ah, buffer, as it may be, some of the less enthusiastic Imperial guests," he explained, delicately choosing his words. "Not everyone was as pleased as I am to be invited to Figaro Castle."

"That's a major understatement," Locke sighed, and Leo laughed.

"Yes, well, I don't mind. I will do what I can to see that this day goes smoothly for everyone involved. It wouldn't be fair to Celes to have it ruined by some self-righteous snob who can't stand to let go of old transgressions," Leo said. Locke nodded, wondering idly how such a seemingly decent person could have become an Imperial military leader.

They were getting closer to the large hall where the ceremony was to take place, and Locke squirmed internally. Maybe he could fake illness. His stomach churned uneasily, and he frowned. Maybe he wouldn't have to fake it.

"Locke!" a voice drew his attention, and he looked up to find Sabin hurrying toward them. "It's about time! I was putting off telling Edgar that we couldn't find you, because he probably would have had a small nervous breakdown. Cyan and Setzer and I were going to draw lots to see which of us would have to tell him if you didn't drag yourself down here pretty soon. What took you?"

"Ah …" Locke really didn't want to explain. Instead he gestured to the man at his elbow, who was watching the scene with a pleasant if bemused expression. "Sabin, maybe you know General Leo?"

"Oh, of course," Sabin grinned, offering his hand. "We've never been formally introduced, but I've heard of you."

"Likewise," Leo smiled. "Your brother has asked me to …"

"Yeah, mediate at the door, keep the peace," Sabin interrupted with a wave of his hand. "They told me. Tough luck. That's not a job I'd want, that's for sure."

"I'm sure it won't be that bad," Leo said casually, but his expression made Locke wonder if he really believed that, and Sabin shrugged.

"Well, you're braver than I am, then. Come on. Locke, get moving. Honestly, of all the days to sleep in …" Locke wanted to snap that he hadn't slept in at all, that he had slept horribly and wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed for days, but he knew all of that would only bring more questions so he just followed Sabin quietly. Leo left them at the entryway, nodding politely before taking a post with all the authority that his position provided.

Locke trudged forward, barely noticing the veritable explosion of expensive and lavish decorations that had overtaken the formal hall. Blues and whites predominated, and the place was filled with so many flowers that Locke might have wondered where they all came from, had he been in the state of mind to notice such things. None of them were desert flowers, and that many flowers probably couldn't have all come from one place anyway.

He idled sullenly just inside the doorway, because he wasn't really sure what was expected of him just now. The room was mostly empty, save for Sabin, Cyan and a few random guardsmen who had been recruited for last minute straightening.

"Is Edgar freaking out again?" Sabin was asking Cyan, who was eyeing a doorway to the side of the room that led to an adjoining room.

"Edgar does not 'freak out', Sabin," Cyan sighed tiredly, and Sabin made an exasperated noise.

"Okay, well, is Edgar having a very dignified and kingly fit of uncontrollable anxiety?" At that Cyan's lips quirked into an almost smile, and the glare that he shot Sabin was far from chastising.

"In a manner, yes," he admitted, and Sabin dragged a hand down one side of his face with an exaggerated groan.

"I knew it! He's not doing anything stupid, is he?" Sabin asked, turning to look at the doorway as well. Cyan sighed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"No. He may be banging his head against a desk, however. He was doing it earlier, until I told him we were going through with the ceremony even if he did have a massive red mark on his forehead."

"Well, he knew what he was getting into with all this. He … doesn't want to back out, does he?" Sabin asked, the first traces of worry creeping into his voice. Cyan shook his head slowly.

"Of course not. He … is merely realizing the finality of what he is doing. He will be fine," the swordsman said. "But, perhaps you had better go in there. He'll listen to you."

"Oh, thanks," Sabin rolled his eyes, but he merely shrugged at Locke as if to say 'it was bound to happen' before striding over to the door and knocking gently as he swiftly let himself in. The door shut quickly behind him, but Locke wasn't really interested in what was going on in there. He looked at Cyan and Cyan returned the gaze before shrugging.

"It's about time you got here," was all Cyan said, before he turned to walk off. "I've got things to check on. Stay here." Locke didn't bother to answer, but he made his way over to the nearby wall and leaned against it heavily. The room was momentarily silent, save for the quiet milling of the guardsmen who seemed nearly finished with inspecting the hall.

Locke closed his eyes, trying to block out what was happening around him. It was another game. If he didn't see it, it wasn't real; as long as his eyes were closed, then nothing could happen.

It was an even more pathetic game than the first, but Locke didn't care. He was a desperate man.

"Didn't sleep much?" a voice startled him, and his eyes snapped open to find Setzer walking silently toward him down the elaborately garnished isle. Locke glared at him, and gave a one-shouldered shrug.

"What do you care?" he snapped, unable to contain his irritation, and a flicker of confusion passed over Setzer's face before being replaced with cool indifference.

"I don't, particularly. But it's going to be a long day. You should be well rested," he said. "What have you been doing all morning, if not sleeping?"

Locke scowled, not particularly willing to tell Setzer that he had spent a majority of his time that morning feeling sorry for himself and thinking up wildly unfeasible plans for sabotaging the day's events. Instead he shrugged again.

"Well, the guests should be filtering in soon. Try not to frighten them too much," Setzer advised, before passing through the entryway. From the voices that carried in, it appeared he had found and struck up a conversation with Leo. Locke sighed and turned his head away, resisting the urge to slam the back of his head against the wall. Edgar seemed to think it was a good idea, after all …

Approaching footsteps alerted him this time, and he pushed himself away from the wall just as someone entered the room. He blinked, rather surprised to see Terra coming in, her arm linked with that of an elder man in formal clothing. He nearly didn't recognize her, dressed in her maid of honor gown and her hair swept up in an unnecessarily complex manner. She was speaking amiably to the man she was with, pointing something out at the front of the room, but she paused when she noticed Locke's presence.

"Locke! You're here!" she smiled, moving toward him to pat his shoulder. "We were worried something was wrong."

"No," Locke said in a rather subdued voice. "I'm here. Everything's fine … isn't it?"

"Yes," she grinned. "Well, Edgar and Celes are both pitching fits, but I suppose that's to be expected. I'm not used to all this fancy stuff. Do you see these shoes?" She stuck out one of her feet to demonstrate, rotating her ankle around. "I hate these shoes! At least your clothes are somewhat normal."

"Eh …" Locke wasn't sure how to reply, but he was saved from the effort when the man finally appeared behind Terra's shoulder. He looked vaguely familiar, but Locke couldn't place him. Terra remembered his presence and looked suitably flustered.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Locke, do you know Cid? He's Celes' grandfather," she introduced him, and Locke suddenly remembered. He nodded, a bit unnerved at the stare he was receiving from the old man.

"Yes, we met briefly in Vector," Locke said. "Nice to see you again, sir."

"Mmm, yes," Cid nodded, before looking at Terra. "Terra, thank you for looking after an old man, but perhaps you'd better get back to Celes. You know she'll have no patience left for those hovering maids, as tense as she is."

"You're right," Terra smiled. "Locke, you'll show Dr. Cid to his seat, won't you?"

"Sure," Locke shrugged, and Terra nodded.

"Okay. See you in a bit then, Locke!" she said, before quickly taking her leave of the room. Locke felt awkward, being left alone with Cid, and the old man didn't speak until he was sure Terra had gone.

"So, you're the one then," Cid said lowly, looking around the room rather than at Locke, and Locke was momentarily confused.

"Uh, what?" He couldn't bring himself to be more articulate. Cid didn't seem upset by his lack of understanding. He simply gave Locke a brief look, one eyebrow lifted slightly, and Locke swallowed thickly.

"Celes told me what happened," he said, as if that was all he needed to say, but Locke continued to give him a blank look and he sighed. "The potion, Mr. Cole."

"Oh," Locke said, suddenly understanding, and Cid nodded gravely. The look he was giving made Locke wonder if the older man was angry at him; after all, it was his granddaughter that they were discussing. "Celes must have explained, sir. It was an accident."

"I know," Cid nodded. "She told me what happened. That doesn't make it less severe."

"I know. I'm sorry," Locke said, and he was. He looked down, scuffing his shoe against the floor nervously. "I don't suppose there's any way to … reverse it?"

"I'm afraid not," Cid replied.

"And it's permanent?" Locke looked up again, frowning. Cid hesitated momentarily, then sighed.

"It is designed to be. Its effects can vary, but generally it is meant to be long lasting," he said, and Locke sighed.

"I really didn't mean for it to happen," he said again, and Cid finally looked at him with something akin to sympathy.

"I know you didn't. You seem like a respectable young man. Celes speaks highly of you; I think her opinions would hold true, potion or not," Cid said. "However, the fact remains that there is something between the two of you. I want you to know that I'll try to look for a solution, but for now I think it would be best if you stayed away from my granddaughter. Her situation is very important, and goes beyond just you and her. I hope you realize that."

"I do," Locke said softly. "Edgar is a brother to me. I wouldn't ruin this, for his sake and for Celes' too." Cid stared at him again, as if trying to judge his sincerity, then he nodded.

"Good. Now, the other guests are on their way. Where do I sit?"

* * *

Locke continued to wholeheartedly delude himself as guests started to pour in, ushering them mechanically to their seats with barely a word of welcome. Even those people that he had known for years hardly got more than a few words out of him, but they seemed to chalk it up to the business of the moment rather than anything dealing with Locke himself. As it was, Locke carried on by telling himself none of it was really happening. 

Slight consolation arrived in the form of a very disgusted-looking Kefka, who looked as though he was about to be forced to ingest something rather unpleasant. When Locke reluctantly approached him, Kefka recognized him with an arrogant sneer.

"Why, if it isn't Celes' dog," he mocked quietly, looking at Locke like one might look at a bug about to be crushed underfoot. Locke just shrugged as if unconcerned, unwilling to rise to the bait. Why bother, he thought, when none of it was real anyway? At his lack of response Kefka had lifted his gold-embossed invitation between thumb and forefinger, and sent it spiraling to the floor with an arrogant flick.

"Fetch," he drawled. Locke merely stepped over the card as if it did not exist, and led Kefka straight to a seat right next to his father, the Emperor. If glares could kill, Locke assumed that the pair of them would have murdered him on the spot. He went away feeling a fleeting sensation of vindication, pleased at the dark looks he received as he trotted away down the aisle. If he was miserable, why shouldn't everyone else be?

He seated the hall until it was full and buzzing with murmuring voices, telling himself it wasn't actually happening. He hung back, wishing there had been some shadows to fall into, when the bulk of the wedding participants appeared up near the altar. Sabin beamed at him and Terra waved, but he ignored bother of them.

After all, it wasn't really happening.

He refused to acknowledge the arrival of the priest and Edgar, who looked slightly off-kilter but no less regal and dashing than he usually did. When the voices hushed and the soft music began to swell, Locke stepped to one side and tried very hard not to look.

It wasn't really Celes who was beginning a slow march up the aisle, accompanied on either side by a child from Figaro and another from the Empire, who were holding the train of her gown and looking thrilled to be the centers of attention. The Emperor wasn't really waiting near the end of the aisle, having risen from his seat to make a show of giving her away.

Locke stood in the back by the open entryway, firmly trying to block everything out. Usually a father or older relative would take the place of standing next to the altar with the groom, and a sibling or younger relative would take the post at the room's entry. As Edgar didn't have any living elders, Sabin had taken the post with easy enthusiasm. The position of 'guard', as Sabin had dubbed it, had fallen to Locke by default. He was to stand there throughout the ceremony, and would be the first to receive and congratulate the couple once the ritual was over and they made their way back down the aisle together. It was Figaro tradition.

It made Locke feel sick.

The ceremony droned on, and Locke pretended not to hear the priest's words. They weren't real after all. You're so pathetic, Cole, Locke told himself, but he figured it was easier to be pathetic than to face the cold hard truth of what was going on around him.

He pretended not to hear the vows, staring resolutely at the length of satin carpet beneath his feet.

He blocked out the priest coaching Edgar's words, hunching further into himself. It wasn't real.

He stopped breathing correctly when it was Celes' turn, her words soft but sure as she mimicked the priest's phrases. It wasn't real.

He closed his eyes as the whole blasted thing neared its end, gritting his teeth painfully as he heard Edgar solemnly intone "I do." Nope, not real.

But then it was Celes' turn, and Locke couldn't do it anymore. It was real.

It was very very real, no matter what Locke wanted to think. How was he supposed to deal with that? How was he going to look them both in the eye, when this was all over?

Unable to face the thought of hearing Celes repeat those two words, he made a split second decision. He spun on his heel and quietly fled, as there was no one there to stand in his way. He didn't notice Sabin's eyes following him, his expression growing dim and concerned from his position at Edgar's side.

Locke was long out of hearing range by the time Celes spoke again, but that didn't stop him from imagining the words again and again, with bitter regret followed by shame that he couldn't seem to shake.

* * *

_>continued _


End file.
